Snowy Winter's Chill
by PorscheDsgn
Summary: Updated: 09Jan08 A few months after the death of Iola Morton, Joe faces his first Christmas without her. Lost in his own emotions, he almost loses the only other person who means anything to him... his brother, Frank...
1. Chapter 1 Forgive Me Brother

**SNOWY WINTER'S CHILL**

**By PorscheDsgn**

**Chapter One – Forgive Me, Brother**

This story does not take place in my normal Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew Universe (I promise I have not rejected that universe – I will go back to it as soon as this story leaves my head). This is a Winter/Christmas ditty for all you Hardy Boys fans. At this point I don't plan to bring Nancy into the story – that may change in later chapters though.

SNOWYWINTER'SPASSINGSNOWYWINTER'SPASSING

"Frank, I don't want to talk to you," barely able to speak, Joe Hardy fought the urge to smash the phone receiver back onto the base and stalk back to his room where he could easily ignore the world around him.

"_Joe, please!"_ Frank practically begged. Joe stopped walking, staring at the sparkling lights adoring the Christmas tree. Set in front of the large windows running the length of the Hardy's family room, the tree was nearly ten feet tall. One hundred percent real, this tree, unlike years before where they had a noble fir, was a beautiful Eastern Red Cedar. Beautifully shaped, his mother, aunt and brother had fun decorating it the day before, adorning each branch carefully with festive white lights, two strands of multi-colored lights and more ornaments than Joe could count. He missed the occasion of the tree decorating on purpose.

_I didn't want to deal with it_, Joe thought again with a sigh. _Still don't._

"Frank, I'm still mad," Joe said. "Maybe I'll feel like talking to you later but not right now. You just remember, I didn't ask for this. You did."

"_Joe, someone's following me,"_ Frank whispered. Joe frowned, suddenly more angry than he could stand. He kicked something and winced, his toe connecting with the solid oak, six foot tall, entertainment center sitting about two feet away from the tree.

"Oh, come on, Frank, I wasn't born yesterday. Just go away and leave me alone!" with that, Joe hung up the phone, satisfied with his ending to that little conversation.

Joe very carefully sat the phone back onto the cradle and leaned against the blue-painted wall of the family's family room. He shook slightly, the anger coursing through him. He ignored the beauty around him, the full branches of garland that were strewn above the nearby doorway, the bows so festively tied to the garland and the scent of pinecones that mingled with the cinnamon and nutmeg from the kitchen.

His whole family wanted him to move on. It was time, they said, to let go of Iola. She would understand, they said. Her family, including his best friend Chet, would understand. It was time to start living life again.

Frank was the worst of the lot. Joe asked him politely yesterday to just leave him alone. He needed more time to get through some things. He would try, he said, to be more with it, to be more in the Christmas and Holiday spirit. He would try to join the family more and do more things with them but… he couldn't 'just get over it' like they wanted.

_And I thought Frank accepted that, until this morning,_ Joe groused as he nursed his sore toe. He slumped back into his seat, his blue eyes staring at the lights of the tree that twinkled off of bright shiny ornaments. Christmas was Iola's favorite time of year. He remembered years before, when he and Iola were still in grade school and her eyes shown all the time from Thanksgiving onward. Everything about Christmas excited her, from the small things like hot chocolate by a fire or making a hand-made ornament to bigger things like buying presents, decorating a tree or reading the Christmas story from the Bible on Christmas Eve.

Joe wiped a single tear that fell down his cheek when he remembered their last Christmas together. They went on a hay ride around the Morton farm, the wagon driven by Iola's father. They had sat in the back, huddled close together under a large blanket to ward off the chill, sipping at mugs of hot cocoa with marshmallows. Frank and his girlfriend Callie sat at the other end of the hay wagon, along with other friends – Iola's brother, Chet, mutual friends Tony Prito, Biff Hooper, Phil Cohen and Liz Webling. Joe remembered not seeing much of the others though; his eyes were only for Iola. Pixie-faced, wearing a bright red parka that made her look brown eyes stand out. She had a bright red hat jammed down over her dark hair and her eyes looked into Joe's own.

Nothing else mattered in that moment but them.

_And I'll never have moments like that with her again. She's gone._

Joe wiped more tears, still angry. Frank had brought it up again this morning. Maybe he hadn't meant to – it had been more of an offhand comment in fact but Joe, still sensitive from the night before, had taken it the wrong way and he had lashed out at Frank.

Suddenly Joe could remember the hurt and surprised expression on Frank's face as Joe railed at him. Joe didn't remember why he was so angry, why he wanted to rip Frank's hair out, but he was pretty sure he had been out of control.

"Be nice to get out for a while and do something fun, won't it?" Frank had said that morning. They were both planning to hit the Bayport Galleria and do some shopping for Christmas. Joe had not been back to the mall since Iola died there four months before. He loved going to Mr. Pizza, managed by his friend Tony, but he hadn't been there either. It hurt too much to go there, where Iola had been killed by terrorists after Joe and Frank.

Joe passed into the dining room and saw a huge centerpiece sitting on the table. A large red candle in a beautiful glass and silver votive stretched high above more garland laced with red and gold ribbon. The tablecloth was one that his mother only pulled out on holidays, made of green with silver holly leaves embroidered throughout. Red chair covers laced with the same silver holly leaves were over each chair in the room tied in the back with silver ribbon and more sprigs of the living garland. Joe smiled as he saw the chandelier over the table had new shades over each light, made of red fabric with green holly leaves. He remembered helping to make those three years before, when his mother wanted to change out all of the decorations in the dining room and wanted a homemade touch. He blew on his fingers in memory of hot glue and closed his eyes.

_Iola took his hands into her own later that evening and kissed each fingertip…_

Joe stood for a moment blinking, fighting back the memory. He heard Frank's voice in his head now.

'Joe, someone's following me,' Joe heard his brother's voice clearly.

And no matter how much they might tease, or sometimes fight, or do silly things to get on each other's nerves, Frank wouldn't joke about something like that, not even to get Joe out of the house.

Joe's heart leapt into his chest and he raced back into the family room. He grabbed the phone and quickly dialed his brother's cell phone number as he tried to ease the racing in his chest.

"Joe?" Frank said before Joe had a chance to say anything.

"Yeah," Joe said. "You said someone was following you?" Joe stared out the window past the Christmas tree – there were white lights running all along the bushes in the front of the house and even in the large elm trees that lined the street.

"Right," Frank breathed and Joe heard the worry in his voice. "I've gone in and out of several stores. I think there's at least two people following me – it keeps changing but I've seen them both, through windows. One is blonde, about six-four, wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket. The other one is Latino, shorter, wearing khaki's and a black parka of some kind. It's giving me the creeps, to be honest."

Joe inhaled sharply suddenly worried.

"How far are you from Mr. Pizza?" Joe asked softly.

"I'm on the third level, about a third of the way around from there," Frank said after a moment. Joe drew a picture of the mall in his head real quickly and frowned.

"You should go there," he said. "That's the safest place for you; Tony won't let anything happen. You should get on the elevator NOW – it's close, right? If you can't get on it, hit the escalators and keep going. I'll call Tony and tell him you're coming and to look out for you. Don't stop."

"Right," Frank agreed.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes if I hit all the lights, twenty if I don't," Joe continued. "Frank… I'm sorry I didn't talk to you earlier."

"It's okay," Frank said. "We have this under control now. I shouldn't have gotten so freaked out. I mean, it's not like I don't know how to get out of these situations."

Joe set his shoulders. "Sometimes you need back-up. Move. I'm going to call Tony. Twenty minutes, Frank. Hold on."

Joe hit the disconnect button and dialed Mr. Pizza.

"Tony, this is Joe," he said when his friend got on the phone. "Frank's in the mall, he's got two tails on him. Could you head out into the hallway and make sure he makes it to you okay? I'm leaving the house now."

"You got it, Joe," Tony said. "Where's he coming from?"

"Level three. Sounds like he was in section H," Joe said. "I told him to take the elevator if he could or to run the escalators if he couldn't get on it. Call me in five minutes if he's not there."

The sense of urgency filled Joe from head-to-toe. He had to make sure that Frank was safe.

He had to.

Joe sped out to his car, a newer model, black Saturn. He was glad that he no longer shared cars with his brother, it made it easier for them both to get to different places. He pulled out of the driveway into the street and headed toward the mall.

All along the street of his neighborhood, houses were decorated with a variety of decorations, from the modest – a few strings along the front and sides of the house – to the extreme – full-blown yard-filling and energy-bill killing displays. A large Santa Claus with a 'Ho, Ho, My Home', when it was dark out, shone much more brightly than any street lamp. He heard neighbors complain about it being a sleep hazard.

Joe hit the send on his phone when it rang a few minutes later, not wanting to hear what Tony was going to say.

"Joe, Frank didn't make it here yet," Tony said in a low voice. "I went down to the escalators and he's not there. Either he didn't make it on them or the elevator or he's stuck up on a higher floor. I'm going to go up and see if I can find him."

"Okay. Call me back."

Joe put the pedal to the medal and raced forward again. He had to find his brother; he had to!


	2. Chapter 2 When Hope Is Gone

**SNOWY WINTER'S CHILL**

**By PorscheDsgn**

**Chapter Two – When Hope Is Gone**

The Bayport Galleria Mall, standing three stories tall and some 100,000 square feet was a popular hanging area for the local Bayport youth. Recently remodeled on the outside, the façade was constructed of high-end brick and stone, interlacing along all sides with huge columns at each corner. There were four branches leading off from the main section, heading to the foundation stores – JC Penney, Sears, Macy's and Tribolone.

Mr. Pizza was located on the branch nearest the Sears, down the hall three doors with both an inside and outside entrance. Joe squeezed into a parking place that someone was leaving, locked up and raced inside, ignoring other shoppers who gave him confused or annoyed looks while he burst through doors without bothering to hold them for people behind him. Time meant everything at the moment; if he didn't hurry he was going to lose his brother for good.

_I've already lost too much time,_ Joe thought bleakly. _I should have been here already instead of being angry and pouting because of what Frank said this morning. I should have known, damnit! I should have known!_

A near cacophony of Christmas music – currently Jingle Bell Rock – heralded his entrance into the mall itself and Joe stood for a moment, trying to get his bearings in the midst of a throng of people that filled the mall. Christmas shoppers, intent on this weekend's deals, were flocking into Sears as if nobody else mattered and Joe shot past them, and heading directly for the front entrance of Mr. Pizza. The blonde-haired youth stopped in the entrance and saw a very crowded restaurant. He felt guilty for tearing Tony away from his customers who sat waiting for service. Sighing he turned away and saw Tony running toward him, waving a hand.

"Joe!" he called. Tony stopped near Joe. Tony still wore his Mr. Pizza apron over dark slacks and a tan polo shirt. He looked tired and weary and dejected.

"Searched all over, best I could in a few minutes," Tony said. "No sign of Frank anywhere. I think we should contact security."

Joe nodded helplessly. He moved away from a family of seven who wandered past, shouldering others out of the way in their haste to get into Sears. Tony and Joe ducked into Mr. Pizza and Tony led Joe into the back office where Tony did most of his work for the restaurant.

"I'm going to go look some more," Joe said. "Why don't you call security while I'm gone? I have my cell on me. Call me if you hear anything."

Tony nodded in agreement, brushing a hand through his dark hair. He put a cap back on top of it, keeping the locks tamed. Good-looking and Italian, Tony was one of the best friends the Hardys had; Joe knew his friend would do everything he could to help find Frank.

Joe went back out into the crowded corridor and headed back toward the elevators and escalators. He peeked into each store as he went by, checking to make sure Frank had not ducked inside of one in an attempt to elude the men following him but, beyond a swarm of shoppers filling each store to near capacity, Joe saw no sign of his older brother.

It was near the elevators he got his first hint of a clue. He saw a young woman with dark hair, wearing jeans and a black cashmere coat, gesticulating wildly to a security guard who stood nearby, listening patiently to the woman's near shouts. Even over the overly loud Christmas music he heard brief snippets of the conversation coming from the young woman.

"Dragging…off…" he heard. "Down service… there…"

She was pointing to a service tunnel door that was right across from where they all stood.

"Dark haired," Joe heard. "Fighting like crazy. Tried to help but… me… wall…"

The woman rubbed a shoulder, showing that she had hit the wall fairly hard.

Joe ignored the rest of it. He shot for the door and threw it open, entering a long corridor that was much more austere and quiet than the main halls had been. A service corridor that led to the backdoors of all of the businesses in this part of the mall, Joe knew it also was one of the few that led to an outside entrance. Fearing he was way too late to do anything to help his brother, he raced down the hallway, ignoring shouts of protest from the few workers he saw lingering in the corridor. He burst through the doorway at the end of the white-painted hall and found he was standing beside a circular driveway, where supplies were picked up and dropped off by truckers who delivered to the mall.

Joe looked around in fear and saw two workers standing nearby, taking a smoke break in the cold winter Bayport air.

"Did you see two guys coming out where with a younger guy? Dark-haired, wearing…" Joe squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember what Frank was wearing that morning. "Dark blue jeans, a washed denim shirt and a tan parka? He would have been fighting them."

The two boys denied seeing the men but they said they did see, or rather hear, something strange. "There was a silver sedan parked out here, one of those large ones. And I could swear I heard something thumping inside of the trunk of the sedan but I couldn't hear a voice or anything. It was pretty strange."

"Did you get a license plate? Did you see anything?" Joe asked urgently as he hoped for a clue of any kind whatsoever.

"No," the other smoker said with a puff of air and smoke streaming from his mouth. "The plate was covered with mud; you know what the roads are like right now. The whole car was pretty dirty, with salt and stuff. The plate was pretty hidden."

Joe sighed forlornly and looked away.

"Did something happen?" one of the boys asked curiously. "Was there something in the trunk?"

"Yeah," Joe said softly. "My brother."

Joe heads back to the entry into the building but can't open the door. One of the boys provides a key and the door opens just as the security guard Joe saw earlier was about to step through.

"What's going on?" the guard demanded. "Do you work here?"

"No," Joe said. "My name is Joe Hardy. I think my brother was kidnapped a few minutes ago."

The guard's jaw dropped agape and he stared over at the two smokers who nodded. "We didn't see the guy but we heard something from a trunk of a car. Could have been him."

"He called me earlier, telling me someone was following him!" Joe insisted as he fought for calm. He focused on the security guard's green shirt and tan pants, on the badge that marked him as mall security, on the nameplate that read "Victor".

"I don't suppose it was a joke of some kind?" the guard asked nervously. Young, maybe in his early twenties, he looked ill-prepared to deal with kidnapping attempts of any sort. "You know, two pals having a game on or something?"

Joe shook his head. "It was no game. He called me earlier and said someone was following him. He wouldn't make something like that up. We've been in too many serious situations for him to joke about it, trust me on that."

The guard studied him for a minute. "Do I know you?"

Joe shrugged. "I've been in the paper a few times, that's all. I think we should call the police. Detective Con Riley. Can we do that?"

The guard nodded and led the way back inside of the whitewashed hallway. They walked at a more sedate pace than Joe went the first time, though he was fighting himself to keep from urging everyone to hurry up. Time was of the essence now; if they didn't find Frank soon…

_Don't go there, Joe. Don't go there. You're going to find Frank and he's going to be okay and that's that._

They stepped out into the sound and sight filled hallway and Joe followed the security guard out of the wing of the mall they were in, into the main section. Joe knew they were near one of the mall's three or four candle shops; he smelled the very strong scents of pine, cinnamon and other scents from a front display in the store. He saw a large crowd ahead of him, gathered around the center area where Santa held court, waiting to talk to the long line of children who wanted to pass along their wish lists. Joe wanted to leap over the fences that led into Santa's workshop to beg the jolly elf to bring his brother back for Christmas.

_I don't need anything else, _Joe thought as he struggled not to break down._ Just Frank. Now._

Joe caught sign of one of the elves, dressed in a green tights, a short green tunic and a jingle-bell laced green cap. She waved to him, winking, but he ignored her in favor of keeping up with the security guard. He fought his way past the lines of children and parents waiting somewhat patiently for their turn with Kris Kringle but finally made it past the crowd.

They walked down nearly to the other side of the mall to the main office area to the security office. Joe collapsed into an offered chair as the security guard took up the phone to call the Bayport Police department. Joe wanted to yank the phone out of the security guard's hands to demand help but he managed to keep things under control and calm, at least inwardly.

_Stay calm,_ Joe thought. _Stay calm. Keep it under control. That's what Frank needs right now._

Joe looked around the small office, fitted with two small, cheaply manufactured micro-density fiberboard desks and cheap looking plastic laminate over each. Each desk held one computer and a single phone and Joe wondered how come the security guys got what was basically a pit to work in while the rest of the mall was decked out to the nines and then some. Even the walls were austere; the only things on them were billboards with several flyers and notices tacked to them. Some were 'look out for' notices on shoplifters and thieves who had worked the mall before. Others were sets of rules the security guards were to follow when out in the mall itself and standard procedures for dealing with thieves, shoplifters and rowdies. He turned his gaze away as the guard hung up the phone.

"I spoke to Detective Riley," Victor said. "He's on his way. He asked you to please stay put until he gets here."

Joe nodded but pulled out his cell phone. He frowned when he saw he couldn't get a signal in here and he turned to Victor. "Can I use your phone to call my dad?" he asked.

The guard nodded and turned the phone around to face Joe. Joe dialed a familiar number and was grateful when his father answered immediately.

"Dad, this is Joe," Joe said as soon as his father piped up with a cheery hello. "We've got a major problem."

_"What is it son?"_ Fenton Hardy asked. Joe relaxed under his father's mellow baritone tones and took a deep breath.

"I think Frank's been kidnapped," Joe said. "He called me earlier and said someone was following him. I… didn't take it seriously at first. We had a huge fight this morning and I wasn't in the mood to talk to him, I thought he was trying to fake me out. Then I realized he wouldn't, not that way and I called him back. He was supposed to go to Mr. Pizza, to hang out with Tony until I got there but he never made it."

Joe's father let out a loud breath and Joe felt his heart pick up speed again.

_"I'm in Clover City,"_ Fenton said after Joe finished explaining about the hunt and about the sedan that they thought Frank was carried off in_. "It will take me at least an hour to get there. You stay put and give your statement to Con. I'm going to check the voice mail at home and see if we've gotten any demands yet. I don't want you going out to do anything stupid, Joe. Got it?"_

Joe nodded then cleared his throat. "Got it Dad. No stupid stuff."

"_Let me go. I'll call you when I'm almost there. Tell Con I'm on the way."_

"I will," Joe agreed. "Hurry, okay?"

_"Okay. Bye."_

Joe hung the phone up and sat back in the uncomfortable plastic seat. Waiting was not his strong point and never had been. A man of action, he liked doing.

The security guard picked up the phone and made a few more phone calls while Joe fidgeted. He read the rules of conduct hanging on the billboard. He read the flyers. He was on his way to counting ceiling tiles when Con Riley walked into the room.

"Joe," he said grimly as he settled on the edge of the desk. "What happened?"

Once again, Joe Hardy explained.


	3. Chapter 3 Chilly Warmth

**SNOWY WINTER'S CHILL**

**By PorscheDsgn**

**Chapter Three – Chilly Warmth**

_I hate fighting with my brother,_ Frank Hardy sighed as he walked slowly down the crowded hallways of the Bayport Galleria, struggling to get past the late-morning shoppers wanting to find those great deals that would make great gifts for their loved ones. _I hate when we get into snits like this, especially when I can't figure out exactly what I said wrong. He's been so prickly since Iola died. I can't blame him but… I don't know what to say to him anymore. I don't know what he wants me to say to him. That it's okay if he keeps mourning Iola for the rest of his life? That I support him whatever he does? Maybe that's what he wants from me – unconditional support, no matter what he does from now on. I just can't. I love him too much to let him keep wallowing in self-loathing._

_If it's his fault Iola's dead, then it's mine as well. The bombers wanted us, not just Joe. He didn't force her to get the fliers from the car. I could have gotten them just as easily as he or Iola did. I can't say that to him though._

_He's angry enough._

Despite the relative warmth of the mall, Frank felt none of it.

_I remember hearing someone say something one time about how, if the soul is weary, that it can make the warmest day feel as cold as the dead of winter. I can't remember who said that though. Maybe dad did, that summer that Grandma and Grandpa Hardy died in that car accident. My soul is weary and I'm so cold._

He kept his heavy parka on even as he weaved in and out of stores, looking for a present for his mother's Christmas gift. He had a vague idea of what he wanted to get her but the item in mind was elusive and hard to find. It would, he hoped, make the gift that much more special when he found it.

His mother, Laura Hardy, recently developed a love of all things Celtic. A month ago she had his father, Fenton, had gone on a two-week tour of the United Kingdom, visiting England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland in that short amount of time. Frank's mother inhaled the air in Scotland and Ireland and planted herself firmly in her roots. Her maiden name was MacDonald after all – and she still had family members littered all through the Scottish Highlands.

Frank watched her going through a book she brought back with her, filled with Celtic knotwork design and Frank was intrigued by the Scottish knotwork as well, deciding that would make a great gift for his mother. He didn't want just anything though; he wanted a ring in an interlace pattern with four strands instead of the normal three. He knew they were made but finding what he wanted was elusive, even in a mall the size of the Bayport Galleria.

It was outside of Shanahan's Gifts that he first saw the first of the men he decided later on were following him. A tall man with blonde hair, at least two or three inches taller than Frank's 6'1", he stood near the railing, looking out below the center court two floors below, seeming to watch as people walked by him. Frank ignored him then and went down to his next stop, Karol's Jewels, to check out the rings there. He knew Karol's often had unusual jewelry from all over the world but again they only had rings with three interlaced strands instead of four.

Coming out he saw the other man, smaller, dark, Hispanic, leaning against the railing slurping on an ice cream cone, gazing not at Frank but beyond Frank, as if waiting for someone to come out of a shop. Frank only noticed him because of the ice cream cone – not something Frank wanted in the middle of December. The man was warmly dressed in a jacket that Frank admired but Frank went down the hall again, stopping this time to peer into the windows of the next jewelry store, Barringers. Frank already knew they didn't have what he wanted.

He saw the blonde man ahead of him, peering in a window but Frank ignored him again as he turned the corner to head to the next branch of the mall. He wanted to check out the English Imports store that way.

In there he found what he wanted. The ring, the proprietor told him, was made in Inverness, Scotland by a man who had a talent for fine metalwork. It was four strands - two gold and two silver - interlaced in an intricate pattern that eventually met up with a beautiful set of sapphire stones. When the shopkeeper told him the price Frank winced and did a mental calculation.

There was no way he could turn it down though. It was perfect! Frank dug into his pocket and paid for the ring and waited as the shopkeeper put it into a beautiful jewelry box, put that into a decorative Christmas box and then put that into a small bag. Frank tucked the box into the inner pocket of his jacket and stepped out, stopping for a moment to figure out what he else he needed to get. His dad really wanted a new day planner; the one he used now was years old and ratty looking; not the kind of thing you wanted to meet new clients with. Frank was glad he had saved up considerable cash for today, after his mom and his girlfriend, Callie's, gifts; he could have been dead broke. Frank looked up and frowned slightly.

The blonde-haired man was standing down the hallway, peering in a storefront between where Frank stood and the J.C. Penney at the end.

When he turned the other way to go to the Franklin Planner store, he saw the Hispanic man tying a shoe.

Nervously, Frank pulled out his phone to call Joe – which proved to be a bust because Joe was still angry about this morning. Sighing, Frank decided to continue shopping. Maybe he was imagining things. It was crowded after all.

Frank made his way into the Franklin Planner store and looked through the different offerings before finding one he thought his father would like. Black leather, laced with dark leather, lots of pockets and pouches to hold pens and other things his father carried. Frank also got the filler for the planner – choosing the "Dilbert" so his father could have a giggle once a day. Finally, Frank paid for his purchases, again wincing at the costs.

Next time he went out he was sure he was being followed. The two men had closed ranks a bit.

He walked again, taking his time, trying not to panic. Frank grabbed his phone when it rang and he relaxed. It was Joe.

Frank liked the idea about going to Mr. Pizza but as he got down to the bottom of the third escalator and scooted around a large crowd of people in his way, he was grabbed from behind. Before he could let out a protest he was shoved into the service corridor that ran behind several shops. One large hand was over his mouth and he struggled, hard, trying to break loose of the creep holding him. The other man took his legs, wrapping arms tightly around them so Frank couldn't get any purchase or wiggle free.

They stuffed him into the trunk of a large sedan and Frank let out a squawk. His hands were cuffed behind his back and several pieces of duct tape put over his mouth. The lid was slammed shut leaving him in the dark and he kicked at the roof of the trunk with both feet, trying to attract attention. Frank tried to come up with some way to draw attention to himself; if he could, then maybe they could him before it was too late.

Why was this happening now? His father was not on any cases until after the New Year started.

_Whatever you want,_ Frank vowed softly. _You're not getting from me!_

The car jerked and jolted, sending Frank flying all over inside. He jammed his legs against the far wall and held on for all he was worth. Nervously, he tried to loosen the duct tape over his mouth by rubbing it against something in the trunk but he couldn't quite get the right angle.

The car stopped finally and Frank waited, shivering nervously. The parka he didn't do anything to stop the chill that crept up his spine.

The lid popped open and Frank found himself facing the business end of a very large handgun.

"We're helping you out," the tall blonde man said. "You do anything stupid and you're dead before you even get started. Got it?"

Frank swallowed nervously and nodded. The Hispanic man reached in and moved his legs until Frank could sit up on the edge of the trunk. The man slid Frank out and onto his feet and motioned to a house.

Old. The house was very old, maybe two hundred or so years old. In need of a paint job and a new front door, it looked abandoned, except for the lights that shone from within the building. Frank wondered why someone would choose a place like this to hold a kidnap victim; it seemed too obvious a hideout for anyone to attempt.

"Up the stairs," Blondie announced and motioned at the stairs the business end of the gun he carried. "Go now."

Frank shivered and nodded. He went up the rickety stairs, through the half-open front door and looked around. The room was surprisingly warm for such an old looking house. There was a fire burning merrily in the fireplace and the furniture in the room warred with the shambles of the outside; it was all new, modern, complete with a very large television. There was new paint on the walls in this room, painted a rich turquoise color on one wall and tan on the other three walls. A man sat in a recliner near the fireplace, reading a newspaper and he turned to regard his prisoner with an almost casual gaze.

"Mr. Hardy I presume?" the man said in a rich, cultured Bostonian voice. "Mr. Frank Hardy?"

Frank shrugged and nodded.

"Ah, yes," the man smiled and he stood. He got up and walked around Frank, appraising. Frank's heart sped up as the man continued to walk around him, like he was a prized heifer at an auction.

"I see you favor your father," the man said in a low voice. "You have Fenton's eyes and hair. Your mother is there as well, her chin and nose and those ears are definitely MacDonald ears if I remember her family correctly – and I do."

Frank couldn't ask the questions that were spinning through his head. _Who is this man? How does he know my parents? What does he want?_

"You can relax, young Frank," the man said as he settled back on the arm of his recliner. "I don't actually mean you any harm – unless your father fails to cooperate with me. Twenty years ago, he took something from me that he had no right to have and I wish that item returned. I have spent a very long time thinking about this and the time – and bait – is right. You are his first-born, the son he always wanted to have when we were children. You will assure I get what I want."

Confused, Frank blinked as he stared at the strange man. _What?_

"You will be my guest for some time – how you remain my guest is in your hands," the man continued. Frank took in the man's casual blue slacks, long-sleeved blue and white striped sweater and even how the man wore his hair combed slightly to one side as if hiding a bald spot.

"There is a nice room here for you to stay in," Frank's captor explained. "It has a bed and its own fireplace. It even has its own bathroom. It's warm. I will, of course, keep the room locked at all times to ensure you stay put. If you cooperate with us and do what we ask when you ask, you will stay in that room, nice and comfortable, until such time as I get what I want and you can go home."

The man's cultured, pleasant voice went harder and Frank saw a spark of ferocity in his eyes. "If, however, you attempt to escape, if you do not obey commands, then you will be taken from your nice warm room. You will be stripped naked, put in a much less comfortable room and handcuffed to a chair. The first way your father has a week to give me what I want. The other way he has however long it takes you to freeze to death. Do you understand?"

Frank nodded slowly. _I'm still not cooperating,_ he thought angrily.

"I hope you do continue to cooperate young Frank," the man said thoughtfully. "I daresay you will still be my guest over Christmas. I would like us to spend a pleasant Christmas day together and not one where you may be on the verge of death. Your future, at this moment, is partly in your hands. Will you cooperate?"

Frank said nothing, of course, but he also stayed still. He gave a short nod, not meaning it.

"Good," the man smiled. "My aid, you can call him James though that isn't his name, will take you to your room, take off the cuffs and the tape. You can be assured that yelling and screaming will not be considered cooperation and I will act accordingly. Talking without permission is also not allowed. Stay quiet and behave and this will be a much nicer affair."

Frank nodded again.

He was led up the stairs, which had recently been rebuilt, if the new carpeting over them meant anything. Frank was led into a small room at the end of one of the halls. It had just what the man said – a bed, a fireplace with firewood stacked beside it and a bathroom. James, if that really was his name, unlocked the cuffs around Frank's wrists and left Frank to get the duct tape off his own mouth. Without a word, James left the room and locked the door, leaving Frank alone.

Frank turned to go to the small window beside the fireplace. Too small for him to fit through, Frank thought he might still be able to get some kind of message through it, if he could get something to write… ah yeah…

Frank dug into his pockets in his coat and pulled out the items he had bought. He mentally apologized to his dad as he opened the planner fillers and took out a couple of sheets, and then took the pen out that came with the planner itself. Frank wrote two short notes, cranked the window open and sent them flying out to the street, throwing as hard as he could throw.

Frank closed his eyes and hoped both that the notes would be found by someone would help and that the man downstairs and his two men would not find them. He had no doubt at all the man meant every word he said about making Frank's stay much less pleasant than it was so far.

Frank prowled his small room, stoked up the fire in the fireplace and sat down on the bed, shaken and lonely.

_I want to go home,_ he thought despondently. _I want to go home._


	4. Chapter 4 Frosty Turmoil

**SNOWY WINTER'S CHILL**

**By PorscheDsgn**

**Chapter Four – Frosty Turmoil**

Ignoring the officers gathered in the small office, ignoring the pains in his knees from his bent position, ignoring everything around him, Joe Hardy sat with his arms around bent knees, head resting on his knees. He sat despondently, aware that as time passed it would be much harder to find Frank and bring him home safely. The hard plastic chair grew more uncomfortable as time passed but Joe refused to move until he got some more concrete word about his brother's whereabouts or had something solid to do, some way to find Frank and bring him home before Christmas.

A hard knot formed in Joe's stomach as he struggled with guilt and anxiety. The unbidden 'what ifs' refused to leave him alone. _What if I came earlier? What if we hadn't fought? What if I hadn't hung up on him when he called. What if I just listened. What if I got here just five or ten minutes earlier? What if I got Tony to help? What if, what if, what if…_

"Joe, there's nothing you could have done," Con Riley perched on the edge of the desk again and stared down at him, making Joe squirm slightly. The blonde-haired youth shook his head in denial, clearing images of his brother that formed, accusing expressions clear. Joe blinked up at the detective and shook his head again.

"I should have come earlier," Joe said. "We were supposed to shop together. I should have been here with him instead at home!"

Con shook his head, brown hair dislodging from the neat style Con normally wore. Dressed in black dress-slacks, a button-up-the-front purple shirt and holding onto a long black trench-style coat, Con looked professional. Joe knew the older man fairly well; they tended to butt heads when Frank and Joe took a new case and had to involve the police in anyway. Con never quite approved of Frank and Joe's proclivity to find trouble. Joe heard him more than once refer to the Hardy Brothers as 'trouble magnets, the both of them' but never in a way that meant they were trouble. Just that trouble found them, sometimes when they looked for it and sometimes when they didn't.

"The should have, could haves and what ifs are going to tear you apart if you let them," Con gently chided Joe. "You know that as well as I do. I may not approve of your detective work and sleuthing but I do know you and Frank are both very intelligent – and you're both strong. You know I'm not lying to you here."

Joe sighed and nodded, admitting that the older man was right. He did know.

Did it make Joe's guilt less? No, it didn't.

_Because I let something come between me and my brother_, Joe thought wearily, wiping his eyes. _I let something come between me and the one person I trust more than anyone else – even Iola._

"I know what you're saying Con," Joe straightened his legs and groaned. Too long in one position, his legs protested the movement. "I just can't make myself agree with you. I'll try not to let it get the better of me, though."

"Joe?" Joe looked up gratefully as yet another person came into the crowded office. Fenton Hardy shouldered his way past the cops in the doorway and smiled gratefully when Con stood and cleared the room with one bellow, sending the gathered officers out to start talking to potential witnesses to the kidnapping.

Fenton knelt beside Joe and the young man looked appreciatively into his father's brown eyes. Fenton Hardy was a handsome man – or so Joe had been told more than once by any girlfriend he'd ever had, including Iola. He'd seen girls and women watching Fenton as he walked down the street or through a grocery store, hunger in their eyes. Fenton never saw that hunger, his eyes remained firmly attached to Joe's mother, Laura.

Right now Joe's father looked grim but calm, his hands steady as he touched Joe's hands and forced the young man to match his gaze. Joe wanted to look away, to deny his father what he wanted but instead, the youth set his shoulders and nodded. Fenton asked him what happened in a very gentle voice.

For what seemed like the thousandth time that morning, Joe went through the sequence of events, from his fight with Frank that morning to the phone calls and coming to the mall to find that Frank was already kidnapped.

"I failed him Dad," Joe looked away from his father, not wanting to see the recrimination he knew would be in his father's eyes. He deserved it but he couldn't handle seeing it, not yet. "I should have come earlier. I shouldn't have gotten so angry with him. You and mom were right last night that I was letting what happened to Iola cloud everything in my life. You were right and I didn't see it until it was too late."

Fenton rubbed the bridge of his nose but squeezed Joe's shoulder with his other hand.

"Joe, son, it's not your fault," Fenton said softly. "It's the men who took him that are at fault for this. Can you see in the future now or something?"

Joe shook his head hesitantly.

"So, if you're not clairvoyant and if you're not omniscient, then it can't possibly be your fault. I bet if you HAD known you wouldn't have hesitated to come with him this morning or get here when he first called. You didn't know and this is not your fault. I know it's all too easy to take the blame for everything. Anytime you and Frank have gotten hurt or endangered from helping me, I feel it. But I've learned I can't accept the blame for what bad guys do – and you can't either.

"If we're going to work together and get Frank back, you need to keep your head on straight. You need to be able to think clearly so we can work the clues. Do you understand?"

Nodding, angrily dashing away tears that had fallen, Joe agreed. "I understand. What do we do first?"

"Well, I think we're going to let Con and his officers finish canvassing the mall," Fenton said softly. He didn't feel at all guilty about getting special treatment. With Frank being over eighteen, Con was well within his rights to wait 24 hours before starting a hunt for the young man. It was a testament to how Con and the Bayport Police Department really felt about the Hardy family that Con didn't hesitate to start a search.

"We should go home," Fenton continued. "I have a feeling we're going to be hearing from the kidnapper soon and we need to be ready to receive the call. Let's get home and get the equipment set-up."

Joe pushed up to his feet, totally ready to go home. The sooner he got out of here, the sooner they could track down Frank, get him home and have Christmas together.

They made it out into the main hallway again when one of the officers ran up, carrying a paper bag in a plastic gloved hand.

"Detective Riley!" the officer called out. "I think we found something."

Riley took the bag from the officer and Joe and Fenton followed him back into the office. Riley, his own hands covered with plastic gloves, reached into the bag and pulled out a picture.

Joe's heart leapt into his chest. It was a picture of his brother inside of the trunk of a car and a note was attached to it, addressed to Joe's father. Fenton grimly reached into a pocket and pulled out his own plastic gloves, donned them and took the note from the packaging.

_"Fenton ole friend,_

_It's been a long, long time, longer than I wanted. The time is right though._

_You've taken something from me twenty years ago that I want back. Give it to me and you can have your son back._

_If your son cooperates, you have exactly one week to retrieve the item in question. I will send further instructions for the delivery of the item. If your son doesn't cooperate you will have two or three days, maybe less, to get this item to me so time is of the essence old friend. If you don't return this item then in one week – or less – your son will die._

_You know what I want, Fenton._

_It's time to deliver._

_Your old friend,_

Alistair Winston 

Fenton sank down in a chair, staring dumbly at the piece of paper and Joe forced his heart back out of his throat. Eyes completely blank as he looked at the sheet of paper, Joe saw his father's hands shaking as he laid the sheet of paper, very gently, back onto the top of the desk.

"Dad? What is it?" Joe asked in a shaky voice. "Who is this guy and what does he want that you took?"

"Alistair Winston is a man I knew growing up. He used to be friends with both your mother and I, back when we were living in Bayside."

"Do you know how to find him still Fenton?" Con asked from the other side of the desk. "Or have you completely lost track of each other."

"We've obviously lost track of each other," Fenton looked up angrily at the police detective then wilted. "It's… it ties into what he wants… why we lost track of each other I mean. Why he had to wait twenty years to get what he wants back."

Fenton looked over at his son and Joe stared into his father's now expressive brown eyes. Joe saw pain and anger there; a deep crease furrowed his father's forehead and Joe tentatively touched his dad's arm. Fenton's hand slammed down on the desk, sending both the bag and the sheet of paper flying in different directions and Fenton leaned forward, burying his head in his hands.

Joe tentatively touched his father's back, rubbing small circles, trying to calm as Fenton had calmed him earlier. Swallowing nervously, he looked up at Con who shrugged, obviously as much in the dark as Joe.

"What does he want?" Joe asked softly.

Fenton said nothing for several moments and Joe wondered if his father even heard him. The worry ignited in Joe like a flame and he struggled for control for a moment, to keep from panicking here and now. What if Frank was already dead? Did his dad think that?

Fenton spoke finally, standing straight again, brown eyes once again more calm.

"Alex Winston, your mother and I were all fast friends growing up," Fenton said softly. "The three of us were part of a small group of about eight that were almost always together at school, talking, rough-housing, playing games… best friends as it were. Alex and I were very close – he was my best friend, the best friend I ever had before I met Sam Radley. He was charismatic, fun and interesting. We talked about going to school together but I already knew I was going to be a cop and he wanted to go to Harvard. He wanted to get a degree in big business and make it big on Wall Street. And your mom and I… well, we were already talking about getting married but I wanted to get out of the Academy and get my own house before we did that. She decided to go to school too – and she went to Brown, majoring in home economics and accounting. You know all that of course. Anyway, Alex did what he wanted to do – and he got married to this beautiful girl. He was different… more different than I thought he would ever be.

He and Veronica got married and had a little boy named Jameson – they called him Jamie – before your mother and I were able to have a child. I got caught up in an investigation and… well, it lead where I never thought it would. Then Veronica ran to me, panicked. She'd seen Alex kill a man, cold-bloodedly put a gun to his head and he threatened to kill her AND Jamie if she said anything. I couldn't believe it but I couldn't allow anything to happen to Ronnie or Jamie. I got them both to the Feds; they put them both into Witness Protection and I haven't seen them since that day. I don't even know where they are.

"That's what Winston wants though. He wants his son, maybe his whole family, back."

Joe found the chair he left only a few minutes before and sank back into it, his legs no longer holding him.

To get Frank back they were going to have to find a man who was now twenty-five and give him up to the father who had nearly beaten him to death when he was five.


	5. Chapter 5 Dinnertime Nightmares

**SNOWY WINTER'S CHILL**

**By PorscheDsgn**

**Chapter Five – Dinnertime Nightmares**

Lunch, consisting of a bowl of hot vegetable soup, a double-decker ham, turkey and chicken sandwich, two pickles on the side and a glass of milk, was delivered into Frank's room sometime after his arrival in the old house. The two men who kidnapped Frank worked in tandem, one of them ordering Frank to the other side of the room with his hands behind his head, the other carrying the small tray filled with food. The first man held a gun in his hands, the business end pointed right at Frank's forehead, leaving Frank little doubt about the man's intentions if Frank failed to cooperate. The food was sat down on the bed and both men left, locking the door after they closed it.

Frank ate half-heartedly, not missing the fact he only had a spoon on the tray. The sandwich was cut into quarters for easier handling and there were small packets of mayonnaise and mustard sitting on the tray next to the plate. With a sigh, Frank used his spoon to spread a little mayonnaise and a lot of mustard onto the sandwich before he nibbled at one of the quarters, wishing he had something to read, a television to watch or even a radio to listen to that would help pass the time. He ignored the twisting in his gut when he thought about his situation; eating would keep his strength up and give him energy to withstand the captivity.

The soup, obviously heated from a can, was uninspiring and nothing like the homemade soups his mother and his Aunt Gertrude made on a weekly basis, freezing portions to be reheated later in the week so there was always a nice variety from which to choose. Frank ate the soup, however, again with the thought that keeping up his strength and energy was better in the long run.

And eating, for all that, gave Frank something to do besides think.

_I should have left Joe alone,_ Frank thought again as he nibbled on a pickle. _I should have given him all the time he needed to get over Iola. I hate to see him so much pain though. I hate seeing him looking so lost and alone. I would do anything to take that pain away from him. Nothing I say seems to make any difference to him, it only makes things worse. I guess…_

…_do I give up? Do I assume he'll work through all of it on his own?_

That's what it sounded like that morning. Joe didn't want help working out his feelings about Iola's death. Frank knew that Joe blamed himself, both for pushing Iola away that morning and for Iola being the one to be caught in the explosion from their car.

What Frank didn't tell Joe was the one fear that gnawed at his stomach, nearly eating him alive. He felt badly that Iola died when he and Joe had been meant to be the victims but….

_If Joe died, I would have wanted to die with him. I… God, I couldn't handle that… I couldn't…_

Frank sat the pickle down and shivered, the memory sending spikes through his stomach. The anger in Joe's voice was still clear in Frank's mind, the fierce hurt – and pride – evident when he closed his eyes and pictured his brother's face.

_Should have left him alone,_ Frank thought again as he collapsed back on the bed. _Should have left him alone. Or I should tell him what I'm thinking instead of… of making this all about him. But is it fair to tell him my fear when he already has so much on his plate? I… it wouldn't be fair would it?_

That was part of the problem. Frank didn't know what to say or do. Sometimes he had no idea how to talk to Joe these days, about anything much less about Iola. Joe smiled so little these days, as if he didn't care about anything that was happening around him.

Turmoil continued to gnaw at the young sleuth. Frank knew he had to do something about the rush of emotion or he would be totally useless.

Frank took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Drawing on the katas he learned in his karate class, Frank inhaled deeply until he was once again calm. He heard Joe's voice clearly in his head, telling him to do everything he had to do to get away from these guys.

_Or is that my own mind telling me what to do? _ Frank wasn't sure which it was but he knew – he couldn't just continue to sit here and wait for the man downstairs to get what he wanted.

It was easier to imagine Joe talking to him, hearing Joe's voice in his head, and urging him on. He knew Joe wouldn't sit still for more than about five minutes, no matter the threat. In pain, still mourning his girlfriend, Joe would fight. Give up were not words in Joe Hardy's vocabulary.

_And they aren't in mine either,_ Frank thought with a mental thank you sent out to his younger brother.

Frank sat up again and finished the meal provided. He downed the glass of milk, wondering a little too late if they drugged the food. The man was good as his word, though – Frank felt fine and more energized now that he had something to eat. He realized, belatedly, he had not eaten after the argument with Joe that morning and hadn't bothered to get anything at the mall, either.

Frank sat the tray on the floor by the door and got up to prowl the room again. A fire burned in the fireplace, providing the room's warmth; he knew it wouldn't work as an escape route – he wasn't narrow enough to get up the skinny passageway. He already ruled out the window earlier, that meant the only escape route was the door – past the two kidnappers and the man downstairs.

Not an easy proposition but not impossible either.

"Think, Hardy," Frank murmured out loud, just to hear something besides his own breathing. "Come on, use your brain. Nothing is impossible, right?"

Well, if you asked JOE Hardy nothing was impossible. Frank's younger brother seriously believed nothing was impossible. Something were difficult, maybe but not impossible.

Like getting an A in calculus…

Like escaping from what appeared to be an inescapable room.

"Okay," Frank reached down to the tray and picked up his spoon. "You have a spoon. A paper bowl. A paper plate. A tray. Sounds like the start of a good joke…"

He smiled sheepishly and wondered what it meant that he was sitting here talking to himself.

Frank went into the bathroom and looked around. There was the old 'play dead' routine… he wasn't so sure that would get him out of here though. Frank wasn't sure how badly the man in charge of the kidnappers wanted to keep Frank alive.

Face it, Hardy, Frank thought miserably. You've seen his face and the faces of the two guys who grabbed you – chances are you're dead when this is all done anyway.

Frank took the items he purchased for Christmas gifts and looked them over. He had his dad's planner and fillers, his mother's new ring. The planner came with a small, floppy plastic ruler and two pens, one of which he had already used. He sighed as he laid back on the bed again, thinking. Nothing – nothing was coming to mind here.

_Come on, Hardy, you're better than this! Think of something!_

Frank took out several more sheets from the Dilbert filler and scribbled notes on each of them. He still doubted anyone would bother to look at pieces of wadded up paper. They would probably think it was garbage that somehow got into the street.

Yet there was that infinitesimal hope that someone might look at one of the notes and contact his father or the police. He threw several more of the notes out the small window and watched until they fluttered away in the light wind blowing outside. He shivered and closed the window again before he went back to the fireplace and huddled in front of it.

Fireplace.

Wood.

Frank studied the wood stacked neatly on the hearth next to the fireplace. There was no wood holder and no convenient fireplace poker. Frank previously used one of the smaller sticks to prod the fire when he added wood earlier.

What could he use the wood for? They were fairly substantial, almost too hefty to wield effectively but he might be able to use one of them as a weapon. Frank went through each piece, holding it in his right hand before he decided on one that made a decent club.

Perfect, Frank thought with a happy grin. Next time any of those thugs walked into his room he would clobber the guy with the gun and take off running.

Frank sat down and started debarking the wood. When he held it the bark dug into the palms of his hand, making for a very uncomfortable feel. Using the spoon he was able to get several pieces of bark off of the bottom of the piece of wood and he threw those pieces into the fireplace, watching as the flames sparked and flared before going back to its normal level. Frank practiced with the small log, swinging his hand around and around in the air as he attempted to get used to the feel of his new weapon. Not the most sophisticated weapon ever made, it would at least do the job if Frank used it properly.

Anything could be a weapon, his father taught him growing up. If a person was desperate enough, they could throw anything at a pursuer so they could get away. Frank just wished he had more choices and options for weaponry.

Holding his stick, Frank slumped down beside the door. This was the part he hated the most, maybe even as much as his very active brother. Waiting. Joe vibrated energy when they were on stakeout, an infectious energy that made Frank itchy while he tried to wait-out whatever bad guy they were awaiting. Sometimes that energy helped, allowing Frank to stay more awake and more alert and sometimes it annoyed, like when Joe kept babbling on about whatever popped into his head and Frank needed to concentrate on the business at hand. Not that Joe babbled often; his talkative moods were an indication of his own nervousness.

Frank would give anything to have his brother nearby now, babbling along about whatever popped into his head, a helping hand in the battle to come. Frank squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and then angrily wiped tears with his free hand.

_Why the hell are you crying, Hardy?_ Frank hit the palm of his hand against his forehead. _Get with the program. Crying doesn't help anything – it gives you headaches and makes you feel stupid and slow. Cut it out!_

It wasn't easy though. Frank missed his brother and his mother and father fiercely. He closed his eyes and saw their brightly lit Christmas tree – a tree he might never see again. Gaily wrapped packages were stacked underneath and around the tree, lovingly wrapped by his mother (or in the case of his mother's presents from his father, by whatever store he bought them at. Frank loved his father dearly but the man had no ability for wrapping!). He remembered helping decorate the tree and the front lawn, strewing clear lights all over the front bushes and even in the elm trees along the edge of the front lawn. He worked with his father, under his mother's direction, until everything was the way Laura Hardy wanted.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again to his brother and wished Joe was here to hear the apology. "I'm sorry I didn't understand, Joe. I'm sorry I couldn't help you…"

Frank breathed deeply, calming ragged nerves. He heard the man's voice, the threat about cooperation.

His father would yell at him if Fenton knew what Frank was planning. Despite knowing neither Frank or Joe waited around for rescue during kidnappings or other captivities, Fenton always cautioned his sons to cooperate with kidnappers – to give him more time to come to the rescue.

"I can't this time Dad," Frank sighed. "It's Christmas and I want to go home."

That brightly twinkling tree beckoned him home.

Frank wasn't sure how long he sat when he heard footsteps sounding in the hallway outside his room. Floorboards creaked under the weight of James the bad guy and his companion, the other bad guy. Frank got quietly to his feet and pressed back against the wall as he heard a key inserted into the keyhole. James ordered Frank to get against the far wall, his hands on his head again but Frank stayed put as the door slid open.

Frank struck immediately, slamming the piece of wood down hard on James' wrist as he still held onto the doorknob. Frank pushed James hard, shoving him back into the other man and the Hardy boy leapt over both of his kidnappers, racing recklessly for the stairs down at the other end of the hall. He took them three at a time, in a haste to get out the door.

He heard James and the other man scurrying down the hallway above and Frank put on more speed. Where was the third man, the guy behind everything? Frank wasn't sure and he wasn't about to stop to check it out. He threw open the front door to the house and ran out onto the porch.

Frank stopped short when he found the leader standing in the driveway, a shotgun in his hands, aimed right at Frank's head.

"I'm sorry you had to do this, Frank," the man said in a cold voice. "I really am sorry you had to do this."

Very slowly, Frank Hardy raised his hands above his head.


	6. Chapter 6 Anxiety Attack

SNOWY WINTER'S CHILL  
by Porsche

Chapter 6 – Anxiety Attack

The world grayed out around Joe Hardy as he contemplated his older brother's possible fate.

Used to dangers, used to the scrapes he and his brother got into when investigating a case, Joe normally buckled down and fought when Frank was in trouble – of any kind. Joe knew it was easier to stay calm and fight your way clear than it was to give up and panic. For some reason, though, the whole day was becoming one of those days where Joe wanted to go hide in bed. He didn't like the idea of this man who was now holding his brother captive – or of a man who had beaten his own son so badly.

"Breathe, Joe," the blonde Hardy boy heard his father's voice and he took several deep breaths, fighting to keep from passing out from hyperventilation. Joe held out a hand to stop his father from touching him again and he exhaled slowly, allowing the world to stop spinning so out of control. Fenton had removed his long jacket, draping it over the small desk beside Joe's chair. His normally well-groomed dark hair was disheveled from his hands running through it in nervous agitation and Joe knew he looked no less frazzled. Still, through it all, Joe's mind continued to work – despite the urge to pass out on the spot.

Alistair Winston – it was not a name that Joe ever remembered hearing before. Joe knew his parents didn't tell him everything of their past, though he did know that his mother and father grew up together, going to the same school for junior high and high school. His parents were the epitome of childhood sweethearts and it was obvious, from Joe's father's words, that Alistair Winston was a childhood friend.

He was a childhood friend who betrayed them both; who went the opposite direction of Fenton Hardy's desire for law and justice. Alistair Winston became a man who hurt people instead of helping them and now was bent on hurting the people he should love the most in the world – his son and his former wife. Joe knew that his father and mother would not befriend someone they thought capable of committing a cold-blooded murder or of harming his own family.

Or that Alistair Winston would hurt the son of his oldest friend.

And somehow, they would have to tell Joe's mother. Laura Hardy was a strong woman; it wasn't just from their Dad that Joe and Frank got their strength. Joe wondered what his mother would think if she knew that an old friend from the past kidnapped Frank?

Joe leaned forward again, breathing in deeply, exhaling, and struggling to keep the white spots from whirling in front of his vision. The young man finally sat up again and looked up into his father's concerned brown eyes and he smiled wanly.

"Sorry Dad, don't know why I freaked out," Joe apologized softly as he sat up straight in the chair. "I'm okay now, really I am."

Joe's father reached out a hand and touched Joe's shoulder, kneeling in front of the young man so that Joe was looking down instead of up.

"You need to keep it together Joe," Fenton said softly. "I know you're upset, I know you feel badly about what's happened to Frank but keep it together. I honestly think Alistair will keep Frank safe as long as he thinks we're doing our best to find what he wants – his family. I may have to… tell a few lies but I'll do what I have to do to keep Frank safe while we hunt for him."

Joe blinked for a moment. "Are we going to try to find his family? Veronica and Jamie?"

Fenton frowned for a moment and shrugged. Joe tried to keep his own mouth closed when he saw his father's uncertainty – there had to be something they could do to keep Frank safe!

"I don't know," he admitted. "It's not that I don't want to, son, you know I won't leave Frank in Alex's clutches any longer than necessary. I just don't have the first idea where to look for Veronica and Jamie – and talking to the Feds won't do any good in this case. There is no way they're going to give up protected witnesses – no way at all. I can't do that to them; they've both most likely moved on and are living happy lives now. Do we have the right to go in and take that away from them, no matter the danger to Frank? Jamie was only five when his father turned on them – he may not even remember that incident any longer. Veronica would have done everything in her power to ensure Jamie forgot; nobody wants to remember their father beat them."

Joe sighed. "I know you can't drag them into this. I just… do we have any hope of finding this guy before the week is out?"

Fenton let out a slow exhalation of air and shrugged. He straightened again, standing and leaning back on the desktop. He crossed his arms and stared at Joe for a moment; Joe fought the urge to fidget and look away. He picked idly at a loose string on his jacket, though, without looking at it.

"I don't know son, really," Fenton said softly. "But I'm going to do every damned thing in my power to try! We aren't going to leave Frank to die, I promise you that."

"I do too," Con Riley said softly. He'd stood quietly by as Fenton and Joe talked; Joe had forgotten the other man was even in the room. The younger Hardy blinked up at the older officer and smiled apologetically.

"You're not going to tell us to stay out of this, let the police do their jobs?" Joe asked softly. He studied the police officer, daring the man to tell them that they couldn't help look for Frank. His hands clenched unconsciously into fists.

"I'm not," Con agreed. "For one, I know better. For another, your father may be the best person available to find your brother. One thing, though. You know I have to call in the F.B.I. right? This is a missing person's case – a kidnapping. It's federal jurisdiction. If I don't call in the F.B.I. it's going to cause more trouble later on. They have resources we don't."

Fenton nodded and Joe glared. Joe had little experience with Federal agents and found all of them distasteful. Federal agents always seemed to be so full of themselves, acting as if they were God's gift to investigation. Stuff-shirted, nose-in-the-air, Joe had very little use for any of the agents he had met, including the ones that his father actually called friends.

Once Feds got involved, they quit sharing information and seemed to take it personally if anyone got involved with their cases. Why wasn't his father fighting that more?

"I knew that already," the detective admitted with a sigh. He ran a hand through his dark hair, looking tired and exhausted "I would have to do the same thing if I were in your position Con. And who knows? They may be of help in this case."

"No you wouldn't!" Joe protested as he sat straight up, glaring at his father. "We can do better without them, Dad! You know what they've done in the past!"

"Joe…" Fenton said softly. "We have to…"

"No!" Joe exclaimed again. "What good have they ever done on one of our cases? They get in the way, not us. We always manage to find who we're looking for but not without a lot of hassle – from them! Can't you give us a couple of days, Con?"

Fenton and Con both shook their heads. "Joe, we can't," Fenton said. "If he waits any longer he can get charged with obstruction of justice. We can work around them – if we have to. In the meantime, we have to give them a chance. Okay?"

"I know the local bureau chief," Con stood straighter. "He's a good guy; he won't take any unnecessary chances with Frank's life. What do you say?"

Fenton shrugged, holding a gaze with Joe for a moment. Joe wanted to tell Con to mind his own business; he and his father could find Frank – but something held Joe's tongue this time. Joe merely waited, unblinking, until his father looked away again.

"We don't really have a lot of choices," Fenton sighed. "So go ahead and do it. I just want Frank safe – that's the important thing."

Joe picked up the note sent to his father and read it again. He glanced up at his father a few moments later. Alistair Winston had neat handwriting, methodically printed out. A man who liked things organized; according to the book Joe had read on hand-writing analysis, it was a man who not only had to have everything exactly where he wanted it but would be capable of anger or violence if his rules weren't followed.

The very thought made Joe's stomach clench up into knots.

"Dad?" he said softly. "What does he mean by 'If your son continues to cooperate'?"

Fenton peered at the note for a moment.

"I'm not sure what he means," Fenton admitted softly. "I can guess though."

Joe waited, though he didn't really need to hear his father's answer. Somehow, he already knew.

"Alistair won't hurt Frank as long as Frank doesn't try to escape, as long as he cooperates – that is, he won't hurt Frank until he finds out I can't give him what he wants, then he'll kill Frank. Alistair was always a gentleman; the whole time I knew him I never saw him lose his temper, to lash out in anger. I have to admit when Veronica came to me about what happened I had a hard time believing her – I really thought I knew Alex better than that. The fact he lashed out in such anger at Jamie… It didn't seem the like Friend I grew up with."

Fenton paused and Joe knew his father was thinking – hard. Joe relaxed back in the chair, the last of his anxiety gone. This was the father he knew, the one who thought everything threw, who outsmarted criminals at every turn.

"Alex would hold to his word so long as Frank cooperated," Fenton continued a moment later. "But if Frank does try to escape… if he doesn't do what he's told… I can't promise that he won't do something to Frank that will give us less time to find him."

Joe blanched slightly. "Dad," he said softly. "There is no way Frank is going to sit around and wait to be rescued. There is no way. Is this guy going to kill Frank before we even have a chance to find his family?"

"Not on purpose," Fenton said. "I know Alex fairly well – I think. Or, I knew him. He might make Frank's captivity more difficult – he will definitely do something that makes it harder for Frank to stay alive for the week we're allowed to have – but he won't hurt Frank if he doesn't feel he has to."

"This sucks Dad!" Joe exclaimed. "This royally, totally, sucks!"

"I know son," Fenton admitted softly as he reached for the desktop and fetched up his jacket. "So we'd better get to work now – because we aren't going to have a week to find Frank.

"We'll probably only have a couple of days – maybe less."

Joe nodded solemnly.

"Let's go," Fenton put a hand on Joe's shoulder as Joe stood, dragging on his own jacket again. "Con, you know how to get hold of us."

They went out into the mall again, leaving the small room behind. Fenton led the way out to his car; since he was closer he could drop Joe off at the van.

Joe was about to open the door to go out when he saw something that made him freeze.

A dark-haired Hispanic man stood nearby. Burly, he looked almost exactly like Frank's description. Why was he back at the mall?

Joe ran forward then, ready to pound the bad guy into submission when someone grabbed him from behind!


	7. Chapter 7 There and Back Again

SNOWY WINTER'S CHILL  
by Porsche

Chapter 7 – THERE AND BACK AGAIN

"Joe, don't!" Fenton Hardy reached out and grabbed his younger son's arm as the young man started to run after an Hispanic man standing nearby, talking a pretty young Hispanic woman who wore a bright and cheerful red and gold Christmas sweater, a long green corduroy skirt and a lovely green head scarf that hid part of her dark hair. The young couple was animated, pointing to a display in the nearby jewelry store, hope and light in their eyes as they discussed the display. Fenton tugged Joe back even harder and Joe subsided, nearly collapsing into his father's arms as he struggled for control.

"Sorry, Dad. I'm okay now. I am. Just lost control for a second. It's stupid, I know," Joe admitted softly. "Frank told me what the two guys who kidnapped him looked like – and that guy looked like one of them. I know it's not him; they left when they kidnapped Frank but I couldn't see straight for a minute. I wanted to pound him into the ground. If I looked more closely I would know he wasn't dressed the like the guy Frank described."

The man in question looked harmless and happy and was wearing another Christmas sweater – black littered festively with holly berries and mistletoe. He wore black jeans and was carrying both his heavy parka and his girlfriend/wife/significant other's fur-lined jacket in one arm. The couple were still peering in the windows but moving now, hand-in-hand, oblivious to the crowd around them as they continued their shopping spree in the mall.

"We have to keep it under control, Joe," Fenton reminded his younger son again as he continued to steer Joe toward the door. "Bundle up, it was starting to snow like crazy when I came into the mall."

"Great," Joe grumbled. "It's not like we didn't have enough of it on the ground already!"

"We'll just have to be more careful," Fenton said. "Let's head home and get things set-up; I want to make a bunch of phone calls – I may have you help with that, we can get to more people faster that way. Alex might have kept in contact with some of our old friends from school, in case any of them had heard from Veronica or Jamie. I wouldn't put it past him."

Joe nodded as he pulled on his leather gloves and pulled a knit cap over his blonde hair. Last, he wrapped a scarf that was attached through a hoop in the back of his jacket around his neck and mouth, ready to brave the outdoor chill. Fenton pulled on his own gloves and hat; he'd left his scarf in the car and rarely liked wearing it anyway. Together, both Hardy men walked as swiftly as the gathering snow allowed, making their way to the detective's sedan.

"I'll take you around to your car in case we need it," Fenton said to his son. "We may end up having to split up to go on separate errands later on. I'll arrange to have Con bring Frank's car home later – you have his extra key?"

Joe nodded and reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out his keys and freed Frank's extra key from the ring. Fenton stopped near the entrance they just left and waited as Joe ran inside and bought the key to Con Riley. Joe came back out and slid back into the car.

"Con said he'd get one of his officers to drive the car home later," Joe said.

"Good," Fenton said as he mentally went over his list of things he had to do when they got home. An investigation usually began with paperwork – going through records, making out lists, organizing every angle before any work was actually done. It was far too easy to rush in and make a wrong assumption than it was to be patient; it was far harder when the case you were working was personal, as this one was. "Joe, don't say anything to your mother if you get home before me. Let me talk to her."

Joe nodded. "No problem."

Fenton drove Joe around to his car and waited until Joe had the car started and was pulling out of his parking spot before he continued his drive back home. Truth be told, Fenton wasn't at all looking forward to telling Laura that Frank had been kidnapped and by someone who was an old friend. Laura was the most loving woman in the world but she was the essence of fierce mother bear when one of her cubs was threatened. Fenton knew he could set her loose on Alistair and sit back to watch the fireworks explode when she got her hands on the man who dared to hurt his son. All past alliances would die in an instant, if they weren't already dead.

Fenton turned on the local radio station, currently playing all Christmas songs and relaxed back into his seat as he drove. He needed to relax, to calm down after a harrowing trip to the mall that morning. He made a mental list of things to do – call his current client to let him know that he would no longer be able to work the case – at least not until Frank was found. There were other detectives who could take the other case, ones that Fenton could recommend.

_I know where my priorities belong_, Fenton thought grimly. _And they belong with my family, finding my oldest son._

Fenton took a deep breath as he made a right turn and continued the track toward the house, following his son's car, which was still in the lead. He continued on his mental list of things to do. He had many of his former classmates listed in his Rolodex at home, along with names of spouses and children. Fenton also had access to databases the average person – including other private detectives – didn't have. He would use every resource at his disposal to find Alistair Winston – and his son.

_I don't care what else happens, Winston,_ Fenton thought. _I am getting my son back – in one piece – and you are not going to touch Veronica or Jamie. _

It was easy to think about – Fenton knew they had a fight ahead of them if he wanted to get Frank back without giving into Alex's wants. It was so hard to think about his old friend as a criminal and kidnapper… he and Laura and Alex has been tight as youth and now that was all gone. There would never be any trust or friendship between them again; there hadn't been ever since Alex changed and turned on his own family.

Ever since he killed a man in cold blood.

With relief Fenton parked his car next to Joe's in the long parking lot running beside their house on the corner of High and Elm streets. Fenton sat for a moment and looked out of the window at the decorations that were strewn through the bushes in front of the house, along the front of the house and even through the tall elm trees. Frank helped him put those decorations, helped him with the placement, making sure everything was done to Laura's standards. He remembered sitting in the cold on the front porch, sipping a cup of hot chocolate with Frank as they admired their handiwork.

A large wreath and bow were attached to the front door, with large round bells attached to the ends of the ribbon; they chimed whenever anyone opened or closed the front door or if the wind moved them. The tone was low and beautiful, adding to the atmosphere in the house.

Fenton sighed as he opened the door to his car and saw Joe finally climb out of his own car. Fenton put an arm around Joe's shoulders, walking with the younger man to the front door as the snow swirled around them.

"Fenton?" Laura came out into the living room, a large ball of dough in her hands. She worked the dough as she walked, kneading it between both hands while she met Fenton's dark-eyed gaze. "Joe…"

Laura paused and Fenton knew she saw it in their eyes, that something was wrong. Laura turned and went back into the kitchen as Fenton and Joe shed their outer jackets and hung them up in the hall closet. Both men shed their boots as well, setting them inside of the closet. As they finished Laura came back into the living room, hands now free of dough and crisply clean as she dried them with one of her variety of Christmas towels.

"What's wrong?" Laura asked, wasting no time to ask the question in her thoughts.

Fenton glanced over at Joe who went to stand in front of the fireplace. Joe knelt and fiddled with the poker, reviving the fire while Fenton put an arm around his wife's shoulders and led her to a table.

"Laura, there's no easy way to say this so I'm just going to say it. Frank's been kidnapped."

Laura frowned, starting at Fenton for a moment before turning to look at Joe. "What do you mean, Frank's been kidnapped? He went to the mall this morning, he's just shopping."

Fenton shook his head as he put a hand to Laura's chin and forced her to look at him. "No, love," he said softly. He saw worry in her eyes even as she tried to deny what Fenton said. He explained what happened and saw Joe flush with embarrassment and guilt while he added another log onto the fire. It crackled and sparks flew up for a moment but were caught by the screen Joe put swiftly into place.

"Who took him?" Laura's blue eyes turned away from Fenton and back at Joe again. He stood listlessly beside the fireplace, fidgeting with the scarf he still wore around his neck. "Why?"

"Alex Winston," Fenton said and saw the dismay – and anger – in Laura's eyes. "He managed to get a note to me already."

"No!" Laura denied, more angry now than she had been before. She stepped away from Fenton, agitated. "You're trying to tell me that Alistair Winston – a man we both grew up with – kidnapped our oldest son? Why? Why would he do something like that?"

Fenton sighed. "He wants me to tell him where to find Veronica and Jamie. He'll give Frank back when we give him his family back."

"You can't!" Laura exclaimed, hands going to her mouth. "He nearly killed Jamie – and Ronnie! You… what are you going to do? What are we going to do?"

"We're going to get Frank back," Fenton said calmly. "One way or another, love, I promise you we'll get him back – alive. I won't let Alex kill him – I won't."

Laura collapsed against her husband and Fenton held her tightly, until she was able to get control again.

"Joe?" Laura said when she was able to talk again. "What's wrong?"

"It's my fault!" Joe exclaimed again. "I should have gone to him earlier, I could have kept him safe. I was so angry… and I didn't help him when he asked. It's my fault!"

"Joe!" Fenton exclaimed. "I already told you…"

"I don't care what you told me," Joe said as he threw the poker at the fireplace. "I don't care! It's my fault. If I had been there those guys wouldn't have gotten Frank! We'd be home now and making hot chocolate or roasting marshmallows or watching another stupid Christmas special on television."

Joe lost it then and he raced out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time. Fenton heard a door slam on the upper floor and he knew Joe was safely in his room.

"Give him time, love," Fenton held Laura back when she wanted to follow him. "He's taking this hard. He'll see it in time that it's not his fault. In the meantime, I need to make a bunch of calls. I am going to do everything – and I mean everything – in my power to find Alex – and Frank. If I have to, I'll post a huge reward and send it to the television stations along with a picture of Alex. I don't want to do that yet; Alex might move Frank and that would make it harder to find him."

Laura nodded.

"Let me know if there's anything I can do to help," she said calmly. "And let me know when you find Alex Winston. I have a few things to say to the man…"

Fenton nodded and went down the hallway to his office.

SNOWYWINTERSCHILLSNOWYWINTERSCHILL

Joe slammed the door to his room and collapsed onto his bed, ignoring the scarf still wrapped around his neck and the pain in his shoulders.

He wanted to hurt something – or someone. If he heard one more time it wasn't his fault he might say something to his parents he regretted. They obviously didn't understand, didn't see the whole picture that Joe was painting for them. His parents lectured him on anger, about letting it get the better of him and he'd done that.

_How can they be willing to let it go this time, when it means Frank's been senselessly kidnapped?_

Joe wanted so badly to hurt something he beat his fists into his pillow once, twice, again and again and again and again until the pillow burst and feathers flew out of it, scattering across his bedding and onto the floor.

Joe knew the anger was doing him no good – he couldn't think when he was like this and he wasn't going to be able to help Frank while he was unable to think. Joe got to his feet and did several jumping jacks and knee bends and even a bunch of karate kicks, until he was able to calm down.

_I have to do something,_ Joe thought. I _can't just sit here and I can't just wait for Dad to make calls and do whatever it is he's going to do. I can't!_

Joe took a deep breath until he calmed. He closed his eyes to steady his nerves and to be able to picture things more clearly, then he got to his feet.

There were a lot of kids who worked at the mall this time of year, a lot of kids that Joe knew fairly well – friends from school or the neighborhood.

Kids who might not talk to the police but would talk to a friend, or a friend of a friend.

Joe pulled out his cell phone and made several calls, calling his best friends. Biff, Tony, Chet and Phil all agreed to meet Joe at the mall to help him with his own search. If they could find the men that kidnapped Frank, get a clear picture of what they looked like, then they could look through databases and find the men there.

_One way or another,_ Joe vowed as he slid his coat on and went back out to his car. _You're coming home Frank. _

_And you'll be here in time for Christmas!_


	8. Chapter 8 Promises Fulfilled

SNOWY WINTER'S CHILL  
by Porsche

Chapter 8 – PROMISE FULFILLED

The double barrel of the shotgun pointed right at Frank's head and the young man very slowly raised his hands over his head, waiting warily for his captor to speak. Frank knew his goose was well and truly cooked; he had, after all disobeyed the order given by the man.

And he understood, without knowing the man at all, that he never made idle threats.

_I had to try, though,_ Frank stared at the open ends of the shotgun_. I had to make an attempt. You can't always rely on someone to rescue you. It's Christmastime! Peace on earth, good will to men. I want to go home!_

_Great, Hardy, you sound like a fractious two-year-old. Waaa, waaa, I want my toys. Waaa, waaa, Joe hit me. Waaa, waaa, some jerk is holding me against my will. Get over it and get your head back on straight. Maybe there's a way out of this yet._

The man very slowly approached Frank, the gun still trained on his forehead.

"Frank, if you will," the man said in his polite, Boston-accented voice. "Back up the stairs with you now. Move along. And keep those hands up where I can see them."

Frank turned and walked very slowly back up the stairs, his hands still above his head. The man known as James waited there, glaring, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as he held the door open. When Frank approached, James reached out and grabbed his arm and dragged him back into the room. Frank grimaced in pain and tried to pull free of the hard grip on his arm but James held on even more tightly, leaving no doubt just who was in control at the moment. James dragged Frank into the front room and pushed him into a chair, still glaring.

Frank's kidnapper walked into the room and handed the shotgun off to his helper. The older man settled into the handsome seat near Frank and leaned forward, looking disappointed.

"I see you had to try my patience – to perhaps test my warning to see if I would carry through on it," the man leaned forward, eyes boring into Frank's. "I can promise you that I am not the kind of man who makes idle threats. I truly am sorry that you couldn't obey a simple command, Frank. I know Fenton would have appreciated having a full week to find you. As it is, I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut down on that time."

Frank glared at his captor. "You really didn't expect me to cooperate did you?" he asked. "If you knew anything at all about me, you knew I'd try to escape. You were waiting for it the whole time weren't you? That's why you were outside with the shotgun."

"I hoped," the man's voice lost some of its controlled demeanor – and some of the accent as well. "That you could be reasonable. I hoped that you would understand the necessity of cooperation. I can see that you are too much like your father, that you think you have to be in control of everything. I am going to disabuse you of that notion right now, young Mr. Hardy. I am the one in charge – most specifically I am the one in charge of your future. You do rather take after your father, though. I should have known you would have a bit too much of Fenton in you."

"How do you know my father?" Frank asked, curious despite himself_. Great, Frank, show interest in the creep who kidnapped you. That makes total sense. Just swell._

The man smiled and settled back in his chair, as if a storyteller about to tell grand tale. "I grew up with your parents. Perhaps you heard stories of Alistair Winston? Or perhaps Alex?"

Frank thought for a moment and shrugged. "Not really, not that I can recall. They've mentioned a guy they grew up with but not by name and only in passing, if something reminded them of him."

"I see. Well, I grew up with them – we did a lot of things together, both good and bad – and you know what happened? I was betrayed by your father. He took something very precious from me. When I get that back, he gets you back. An even, fair, trade is all I ask, Frank. Is that too much?"

"No idea," Frank cautiously shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "What are you trading for?"

"My wife and son," Winston smiled casually. "My family."

Frank shivered when he saw the cold expression on the other man's face. His family…?

_I'm not going to ask. I am not going to ask._

Frank felt Winston's eyes on him. "You look so much like your father did at your age. Fenton reborn perhaps and just as smart I'll bet. Which makes me wonder why you couldn't see the wisdom in obeying me."

Frank shrugged. "Maybe I do take after him and was doing what I thought he would do."

"Stand up," Winston ordered, resignation in his voice. "Right now."

Frank shook his head. "No."

Winston sighed and looked away for a moment before standing and grabbing Frank's collar. He pulled, hard, bringing Frank to his feet, anger now radiating from his face in place of the previous calm.

"Perhaps you will heed my next warning," the man stared straight into Frank's eyes. "Your next failure to cooperate will have even more dire consequences than this last one will. Listen to me very well, young man. If you fail to cooperate, if you fail to do a single thing I ask of you, I will not hesitate to put a bullet through your skull. I won't stop there either young man. If I fail to keep you as my hostage for your father's good behavior, then I will not hesitate to kidnap your brother. Joseph I believe his name is. Blonde haired and blue eyed like your mother, the lovely Laura."

Frank blanched, his stomach churning as he thought of Joe in the hands of this madman. Frank nodded solemnly and agreed. _Not my brother_, he vowed mentally. _Not my brother. You can't have him!_

"Believe me," Winston continued. "I know all about your family. I know you and your brother live in Bayport with your parents Fenton and Laura on the corner of Elm and High streets. I know your Aunt Gertrude – Fenton's sister – lives with you most of the time. I know the pair of you are following in your father's footsteps as detectives and that you've solved a fair number of cases on your own. I've received reports over the years about your father and mother – and about you and your brother. I know you as well or better than just about anyone else in your life and I know that you will do anything in your power to protect Joe. Am I wrong?"

Frank swallowed nervously. "N-no sir," he stammered shamefully. "You're not wrong."

"Then I can expect a fair larger amount of cooperation from you now, yes?"

"Yes, sir," he said softly. "I'll… I'll behave. I promise…"

"I'm sure you do promise," Winston smiled and settled back in his seat. "I'm sure you do. Now, it's time for you to pay the price for your inability to cooperate. I will ensure your future cooperation. Strip."

Frank blanched and jerked back, trying to get away from the man's scrutiny. Winston glared then and motioned to James. James raised the gun and Frank shouted.

"Wait, I'm doing it," Frank pulled off his outer jacket and set it on the chair he had been sitting in. His hands shook as he reached down to pull his sweater off and he reluctantly toed off his shoes.

_I can't let this guy get his hands on Joe, I can't!_ Frank shuddered as he sat his sweater on top of his coat and pulled off the long-sleeved Henley he wore under the sweater. He followed that up with his t-shirt and trembled as the cool air of the front room hit bare skin.

Winston sat back in his chair again, reaching to pick up a magazine, as if somehow allowing Frank to maintain any sense of privacy. Frank's hands shook even harder as he tried to unbutton his trousers and he had to shake them out for a moment before he could finish the job. The trousers joined the stack made by his shirts and jacket and he stopped, looking at Winston for a moment.

"All of it," the man ordered, pointing to the boxers and socks Frank still wore. Winston waited, looking once more patient and calm but with a forcefulness that made Frank blanch.

Shivering, fighting back the urge to cry, Frank finished undressing, adding his boxers and socks to the stack.

Neither of his captors bothered to look at him. James took the clothing and put them into a plastic bag which he took out through the front door, leaving Winston holding the gun again.

"Please go back down the hallway," Winston said politely to his captive. Frank trembled again, wrapping his bare arms around his torso as he made his way down the hall. Instead of going back up the stairs to his previous room, Winston opened a door in the floor in one of the back rooms and motioned to a set of concrete steps that went down, probably to whatever resembled a basement in this dump.

The concrete floor felt like ice on Frank's bare feet and he bit down on his lower lip to keep from crying out. Frank went down, ducking his head to clear the low ceiling and he found himself in a dark room, lit only by dim light coming through the dirty windows. There was a single, wooden, chair in the center of the room and absolutely nothing else in the way of comfort.

"This is your new home away from home," Winston smiled at his captive. "I'm afraid it's not as comfortable as your last one – I daresay you might just be regretting your lack of cooperation. Have a seat."

Frank wanted to resist. He wanted to jump back up the escape and try to get away again.

But the man's new warning echoed in his head. _I have to keep Joe safe,_ Frank thought. _I have to make sure this man never gets his hand on Joe. If he thought I was bad at cooperating…_

"It's going to be cold down here," the man continued. "Giving your father less time to get what I want. You will most likely feel the effects of hypothermia by tonight, maybe in the morning. You will most likely die of exposure in another two or three days – maybe less depending on how things go. This basement is not comfortable – there are drafts all through and the temperature outside, as you know, is freezing."

Frank shivered some more as he heard the man's calm voice.

"I will continue to give you water to drink," Winston continued. "And perhaps a bit to eat; I don't want to make it totally impossible for you to survive but I want you constantly aware of just how much danger you are in."

Frank sat down in the seat and winced as the cold wood connected with bare flesh. He closed his eyes as Winston pulled his arms toward the back and used two sets of handcuffs to cuff Frank to the chair.

"There is the briefest chance I might let you out of this in a few hours," Winston said. "Let you get warm again. There are varying factors that will make that choice easier or harder for me to make."

"For now…" Winston handed the shotgun he had carried with him to James who was now standing in the room. He took something else that James carried.

A camera.

Winston smiled as he raised the camera and snapped two pictures of Frank. With a smile he turned and left the room.

"See you later," Winston called out as he closed the door behind him.

As soon as the door was closed, Frank tested the cuffs around his wrists. The cold metal would most likely cause frostbite later, if Frank managed to live that long. Winston was right about one thing – this basement was drafty and cold. He could actually hear the wind cutting through and brushing over his exposed skin and inhaled and exhaled sharply.

Normally he could recite a large number of factors dealing with hypothermia, all learned from reading books or magazines. Right now, though, he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around anything, much less the underlying signs of hypothermia or how long it would really take him to freeze to death.

Frank took stock of his surroundings. Concrete and more concrete. Remembering how old this house probably was, he realized almost instantly what this cellar had been – the cold storage for the house back in the late 18th and early 19th centuries. Obviously nobody bothered to do anything else with the place during the intervening years of electricity and refrigerators, making it the perfect prison for freezing a guy to death.

"Find me," Frank begged softly. "Please, somebody…

"Find me…"


	9. Chapter 9 Hopeless

SNOWY WINTER'S CHILL  
by Porsche

Chapter 9 – HOPELESS

Sitting in his car outside of the mall, Joe Hardy took several deep breaths to calm his nerves and get his thoughts in order. By the number of cars still in the parking lot, the mall bustled with activity within and without, people coming and going, arms filled with shopping bags and packages from within the mall. Those kinds of activities, at the moment, held no meaning or purpose for Joe. Purpose driven, he cared only about finding his brother and getting him back. Nothing else, at this point, mattered. Joe took another deep breath and leaned back, going over his plans for the inside of the mall.

The guilt subsided a little as he sat there. Joe knew the guilt he felt was unnecessary, that he had no way of knowing that Frank would be kidnapped, despite the phone call. Joe doubted he would have had time to get to the mall if he had left right away; the men took Frank as soon as he got to the lower level.

_I should have had Tony go meet him,_ Joe thought with a sigh. _WE never imagined that Frank would be taken in a busy, crowded mall and in front of witnesses._

_Not that there were many witnesses, at least ones that wanted to get involved. Just that one woman whose name I don't know._

Despite it all, the guilt lessened so that it no longer had a strangle hold on the blonde-haired young man. Joe pulled on his heavy wool gloves and opened the door of his car. Stepping out into the swirling snow outside of his car, Joe stepped carefully on the snowy surface as he closed the door and locked the car. He threw the tail of his scarf around his face and made his way back toward the entrance of the mall.

_Alistair Winston. Alistair Winston._

Joe kept the name firmly fixed in his mind as he waited for the arrival of his best friends, guys he'd known most of his life. The most important thing on his mind at the moment was the man who had kidnapped his brother and wanted what amounted to the impossible.

_Not my brother,_ Joe leaned back on the bench as he stared up at the glowing lights of the mall. _You aren't going to use my brother to get what you want, no matter what you think, Alistair Winston!_

The guilt he felt most of the day was less, now that he was about doing something – anything – to get his brother back. As Frank told him time and again the would haves, should haves and could haves could tear a person apart – and they did nothing whatsoever to help. Maybe Joe could have believed his brother earlier, maybe he should have left earlier but – for the moment at least – he believed his father. It wasn't his fault Frank was kidnapped. Chances were the men would have still gotten Frank; they were just waiting for a chance to get Frank down from the upper levels of the mall to a place they could more easily take off with him.

"Joe!" Joe looked up when he saw the first of his friends arriving – 6 foot plus Biff Hooper, burly and blonde, looking ready to tackle anyone who got too close much less who got in the way. He wore his varsity jacket over a long sleeved gray sweatshirt with "Bayport High Varsity Football" emblazoned over his heart and a pair of blue jeans.

"Hi, Biff," Joe waved to his friend and Biff settled down next to Joe. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," Biff shrugged. "Nothing much at all. I came cause you called. What's wrong?"

"Let's wait for the others, I don't want to explain this more than once," Joe looked away for a moment, catching movement out of the corner of his eye. Tony Prito, now freed of his work clothes, was walking toward Joe dressed in blue jeans and a long-sleeved blue and green flannel shirt over a dark blue t-shirt. Behind him came their mutual friend, Chet Morton, who was industriously chewing on a slice of pizza and trying not to spill onto his green and black sweater and jeans.

"Who else we waiting for?" Biff asked as he eyed Chet's slice of pizza hungrily. "Phil?"

"Yeah," Joe agreed. "He was going to do a couple of things on the computer before he came, then he can help us out."

The boys all managed to squeeze onto both sides of the back-to-back benches and Joe turned so he could see them all.

"Someone kidnapped Frank this morning," Joe said. "A guy named Alistair Winston. He's supposed to be a friend of my mom and dad from when they were young but obviously they don't see eye-to-eye anymore."

Joe carefully explained about Frank's kidnapping, about Alistair Winston wanting his dad to find his family.

"I don't think the guy can be trusted to bring Frank home safely," Joe said. "I want to try to retrace Frank's steps and see if anyone caught site of the guys who kidnapped him – we need a better description, maybe even a picture, so we can try to get an ID on the guy. I know the cops have been here for a while asking questions but you guys know that some kids wouldn't talk to the cops but they will talk to other kids – us."

His three friends nodded in agreement and Joe relaxed a little more, grateful as always to have such good friends who were willing to drop whatever they were doing to come and lend a hand. He smiled at them, feeling warm despite his worry for Frank. There was nothing like good friends to get you through a hard time – and Biff, Chet and Tony were three of the best friends out there.

"I'm here," Phil Cohen, his neck length sandy hair sticking out from under a turquoise toboggan cap, perched on the arm of the bench and handed a few sheets of paper to Joe. "I did some quick searching on a few databases I have access to – discretely of course. Anyway, here's what I got on this Winston guy. Take a look."

Joe took one of the sheets of paper, leaving the rest to his friends.

"This guy is a freakin' mobster!" Chet exclaimed a few moments later. Joe winced and waved a hand at Chet.

"You wanna announce that on the P.A. Chet?" Joe asked his friend in a much lower voice.

"Sorry," Chet flushed with embarrassment. "But it's true. I mean look what all he's done. How'd he ever get out of jail at all?"

Joe shrugged. Suspected of racketeering, extortion, the man had ultimately gone up for murder one – a lifetime sentence – and he was out in just twenty years.

"It figures," Joe said. "My dad and the feds go to all the work of putting this guy away – and sending his family into protection – and some stupid bureaucrat somewhere lets him out."

"Let's get to work before this place closes," Biff said. "We only have another hour and a half. Should we do it by floor? There's five of us now, three floors – two of us could do two and three since those have the most stores."

"I know for sure Frank was on three," Joe said. "We need to spend the most time there I think."

The boys agreed. "I'll take this floor," Chet offered. "I promise I'll be careful. He disappeared over by Shurby's right?"

Joe nodded. "Yeah. There's a hallway that goes along the back of the stores in that area."

"Fine," Chet grinned.

"I'll take four," Phil said. "And then move down to two since it'll take the less time. What are we looking for?"

Joe explained. "Anyone who saw the guys who took Frank – well enough to give us a drawing of them, one we can run through a database and get some names."

Biff rubbed his hands together in expectation. "I'll take level three with you, Joe. Tony, can you do two?"

Tony nodded. "Sure can and I have the advantage of being an employee in the mall so I can go places you guys can't."

Joe grinned at his friends.

"Let's meet at Mr. Pizza at closing," he said. "If you find anyone who an give us a drawing, bring them with you or ask them to join us there when they can and we'll see what we can do about getting that drawing."

Joe and Biff hit the escalators, taking them up to the third level. Biff headed off in one direction, leaving Joe to wander on his own, mentally working through whatever path Frank might have taken.

_I really should have gotten more information from him,_ Joe thought with a frown. _Oh well, time to get started._

Joe spoke with employees first, talking to classmates from school who worked in the various stores along this level. None of the workers he spoke to, though, remembered seeing the two men. All of them said they were way too busy to notice much of anything but the customers.

"I do remember seeing Frank though," one classmate, a girl named Missy Harrington, said. Missy, tall with her dark hair cut into a spiky bob, was dressed in a jean mini-skirt and a blue t-shirt. "He came in for a few minutes and said hi to me; I was going to join him at Callie's house to study for our calculus exam later on tonight. Is he going to be there?"

Shaking his head, Joe sighed. He rubbed his head, ruffling his blonde hair. "No. He's been kidnapped, that's why I'm trying to find these other two guys. Frank wasn't able to give me a great description but enough that I have a hint of who to look for. I'd better call Callie though."

"I'll do it," Missy offered. "You go back to whatever you're doing. Let me know if you find him!"

Nodding, Joe wished Missy a Merry Christmas and went back out of the mall and down to the next store. He found a few classmates out in the hallway and he stopped for a few minutes to speak to them but none of them had seen Frank at all that day; they hadn't been there long enough. Joe was beginning to wonder if his idea was going to be a flop; that too much time passed for him to find anyone who could help.

Joe stopped at one point and sat down on one of the benches overlooking the ground two stories below. He looked around, trying to put himself into Frank's shoes as his brother wandered the mall earlier. Joe knew he was in the right area; he matched the row of stores to what Frank told him on the phone. The usual stores from malls all over the US were in this area – two clothing stores, a shoe store, a jewelry store and a specialty store. Joe shook his head, wishing he could come up with a clearer idea of what to do next. Shoving aside the worry he focused on the problem instead; finding a witness, any witness.

"H'lo, Joseph," Joe looked up at the face of one of the mall security guards. Thomas O'Henry was a tall, burly, red-haired man who still spoke with a hint of a Scottish brogue. Joe knew he hadn't seen that guard earlier that day – O'Henry tended to work the swing shift from five in the evening until sometime into the night. "Ye look like ye lost your best friend, lad."

Joe sighed. "You may have heard. Frank was kidnapped from the mall earlier today."

"I heard a lad was kidnapped, not that he was your brother," O'Henry commented as he settled onto the bench next to Joe. "Ye came t'see if ye could help find him, did you lad?"

"Yea," Joe agreed softly. "I'm not having much luck though. You just came on duty a while ago didn't you?"

O'Henry nodded. "Aye, Lad," he agreed. "My usual time of five o'clock. I've been doing some scouting; the owner of the mall is none too happy about a kidnapping from his mall. It's bad for business."

Joe looked around at the hustle and bustle of people moving past and blinked. "Doesn't seem to be doing too much harm, Tom. I see plenty of people still doing their shopping."

"Aye," O'Henry scratched the side of his nose. "But that's because it hasn't gotten out – what happened I mean. Sure as beans when it does we'll see what the owner says – not that I care about business. I do care a lad was taken right under the noses of the mall security. I'll be havin' a word with the blighters on duty earlier today."

"To be honest," Joe said as he shoved his hands back into the pockets of his jacket, shivering slightly. "They picked a good day if they wanted to kidnap someone from the mall. It's so swamped here I'm not surprised no one has noticed anything. I don't suppose there was anything on the security cameras?"

"I haven't had the chance to look lad," O'Henry said. "They want all of us but the camera boys out here, more visible than usual. We've got the whole team on duty right now, no days off allowed. The owner's even talkin' of hirin' in some temps to fill in the gaps we have."

"Seems too little too late," Joe sighed. "But I appreciate he wants to keep everyone else safe. Look, I'd better get back to what I was doing. I'm supposed to meet my friends at closing which is only an hour away. Think you can hop into Mr. Pizza then while we compare notes?"

O'Henry nodded. "Aye, lad, I can do that. I'll see you then."

The large security officer stood and sauntered away, making his way through the crowd as he headed down the hallway. Joe sighed and stood again, feeling a little helpless.

This was no time to give up though or to feel helpless. For one, it was not Joe's style, for another it helped nothing.

Joe talked to more of his friends and classmates as he came on them but had little success when he spoke to them. He began to hope that one of the guys saw something.

By the time closing hit and he was back at Mr. Pizza, Joe was exhausted. He slid into one of the booths inside of the restaurant and laid his head on his arms for a moment, trying to relax as he waited for the other boys to arrive. They all came in together, talking excitedly between them so that Joe looked up at them.

"We have something, Joe!" Tony exclaimed as the other boys slid into seats next to the blonde-haired boy. "We found someone who saw Frank and those two guys following him – and they're coming in here in a few minutes to help us with pictures. We got it!"

Joe relaxed back in his seat, feeling suddenly as if he could finally breathe again. He was about to say something when his cell phone rang and he picked it up.

"Dad?" Joe said when he recognized his father's phone number.

"_Yes,"_ his father said. _"Joe, are you coming home soon?"_

"Probably not right away, Dad," Joe took settled back in his seat. "We have another witness I'm about to talk to here. What's up?"

Joe heard his father sigh. "_I need you home as soon as possible,"_ Fenton said softly. _"I heard from Winston again. We don't have a week to do what he wants anymore – we have a day, maybe two at the most."_

"Dad, what happened?" Joe felt as if his heart plunged into his stomach. Was Frank hurt?

"_I got another picture of your brother,"_ Fenton said. _"And if we don't find him, or Winston's family, in two days it's obvious…_

"_Frank is going to freeze to death."_


	10. Chapter 10 Cold Hard Truths

**Snowy Winter's Chill**

**By Porsche Ten – Cold Hard Truths**

Joe was on his feet now, bobbing back in forth in place as he spoke to his dad. A second table had been pulled forward to meet up with the booth so there was enough room for everyone who would be joining them in a few minutes and some chairs were placed around the extra table. The scents of fresh toppings and baking dough did nothing to assuage the queasy feeling in Joe's stomach – and he normally ate a Mr. Pizza deep-dish at the drop of a hat!

"Freeze to death?" Joe murmured over the phone as he fell back into his chair and ran a hand through his blonde curls. The seat nearly topped over backward and Joe reached out his free hand to grab the table from underneath. He settled into the seat and took a deep breath as he gripped the cell phone more tightly. "What do you mean freeze to death, dad? What's going on?"

"I'd rather just show you," Fenton admitted and Joe felt his stomach do a flip-flop inside. "I don't… just come home when you're done and I'll show you. We need to hurry though; we just don't have the time we need. And Joe, stay with a group. I don't trust Winston not to come after you too now, especially if he loses Frank before he gets what he wants."

"Don't worry, Dad," Joe leaned forward and propped one elbow on the table. "I'll stay with the guys. We're all together right now."

"Good," Fenton said. "Let me know as soon as you're home. I'll be in my office."

Joe said goodbye to his father and hung up, looking around at his friends. He smiled as Thomas O'Henry sauntered into the room and slid into the booths next to the boys. Just behind him came a man that Joe didn't know that well; he'd graduated Bayport High two years before and was not part of Joe's group.

"Joe, this is Evan. Evan Kingsley," Tony introduced young man to the group. "Evan, this is Joe Hardy. It was his brother, Frank, that was kidnapped."

"I know Frank," Kingsley said as he slid into an open seat. "We've talked before – I play chess and we've met online a few times to play there. Anyway, he was in our store earlier and I saw those two men come in behind him. I thought it was weird that they were hanging out in a perfume shop – I mean, they didn't look the type. In fact, they just sort of looked around but it looked to me like they were watching Frank. I got a real good look at both of them."

"Did the police talk to you yet?" Joe asked curiously. A real witness – someone who had seen both men – was just what they needed.

Kingsley shook his head. "No," he admitted. "I heard they were in the store earlier asking around but I was at lunch when the police were there. I expected someone to come by and talk to me but nobody ever did. I should have called, I know, but we got really busy. Anyway, whatever I can, just tell me."

"Do you remember enough to give me a description?" Joe asked. "Or to help with a picture?"

Phil Cohen reached under the table and pulled out his laptop. He sat it on top of the table and hit the power switch as Evan spoke. "I'm pretty sure I can help with that."

"Do you remember anything about the men's demeanors?" Joe continued to question the helpful Kingsley. Kingsley took off his jacket and laid it on an open seat behind him as he thought. O'Henry leaned over to peer at the software that Phil used on his laptop, face fixed with interest.

"Well," Kingsley said. "Like I said they were really intent on what Frank was doing. One – the blonde guy – looked to have quite a temper. He kept shoving through if he couldn't see Frank. I should've told him… I really should have. I'm sorry, Joe."

Joe shook his head, waving it off. "You couldn't have known. I think Frank already knew by then… maybe. Strange they got so close to him though, before they grabbed him." Joe scratched at his cheek and frowned, blinking.

"Sounds like they knew what they were doing, regardless," Tony commented idly. "I mean, they got him… despite everything and how well trained you guys are."

It was quiet for a while, with only Phil and Kingsley talking – Phil asking for more information, Kingsley watching over Phil's shoulder as the younger man worked his fingers over his keyboard. Joe waited anxiously, wanting to see for himself what the two men looked like but wanting to run home to see what his father received from Frank's kidnapper. Joe's stomach continued to knot in more anxiety as he waited impatiently, rocking slightly in his seat while he waited. A hand touched his shoulder and he looked up at the large lanky form of Biff Hooper, his best friend and Biff squeezed once before flushing slightly and removing his hand.

"Real manly there, Biff," Tony teased their friend. Joe glared at Tony and the other boy subsided but continued to smile brightly as they waited.

"You know," O'Henry commented from where he sat watching Phil. "This is some fine work you're doing, lads."

Phil grinned sheepishly at the older man and shrugged. "No big deal," Phil said. "I helped beta test this software for the company that developed it. I got a free copy – along with a check – for my time. I was not only able to find the bugs in the software but also give suggestions on how to fix it. Anyway, I'm pretty familiar with how it works. It's fun to play with."

Tom grinned and nodded but Joe turned away, ignoring them for now while he tried to maintain an air of controlled anxiety.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity to Joe, Phil turned the laptop around so that everyone could see it. There were two side-by-side pictures, one of the blonde-haired man who looked to be in his thirties and the burlier Hispanic man, with spiky dark hair and piercing brown eyes.

"That's them," Evan commented. "Both of them."

"Is there anyway we can get copies of these?" Joe asked. "I need to show my dad and we should make copies for the police too. Evan, they may have you sit in with one of their artists…"

Evan shrugged. "That's fine. Just let them know. Here…"

Evan reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He took a pen from his shirt pocket and scribbled his home address and phone number on the back of the card before handing it to Joe.

"I'd like a copy too," O'Henry commented. "We can always take it to the security office…"

'"Nah, let's take that in back and hook it up to the printer there," Tony said as he slid out of his seat. Phil took the laptop and followed Tony; they disappeared into the back of Mr. Pizza.

"You're very observant," Chet commented as he waved down one of the waitresses and ordered a large pan pizza with the works. "I don't think I would have noticed that much."

"Well," Evan grinned. "I always have been – you learn to be alert when you play chess. And, well, this time of year you have to watch people like hawks or they'll walk off with everything not bolted to the floor."

"Lucky for us you noticed so much," Joe glanced toward the back room. As soon as he got those pictures he was heading for home. Already there was a mental clock in his head, one that told him he had maybe 47 hours to find his older brother. He started rocking again anxiously until Phil and Tony came back out. Tony handed Joe two handouts.

"I'll get a set to the police," Phil said. "Detective Riley right?"

Joe nodded. "Yeah. Thanks Phil. Thanks guys. I've gotta get home."

"Let us know if we can help again," Tony ordered.

Joe thanked Evan again for his help, took the pictures and, pulling on his jacket, raced to his car.

"Freeze to death," Joe murmured over and over again as he drove toward his home on the corners of High and Elm Streets, his mind more on his older brother's dilemma than on his driving. At one intersection he slammed on his breaks just before he would have run a red light and gotten broadsided. Joe sat back in his seat, shaking slightly and took a deep, calming breath, forcing himself to relax for a moment. When the light changed he started out again at a more sedate pace, driving as calmly and carefully as he could toward his home.

_If I get hit by a car or something stupid I won't be able to help Frank,_ Joe thought miserably. _But at least I have more information now._

Joe glanced with great satisfaction at the pages sitting on the seat beside him. The two faces stared up at him almost haunting his vision and he forced his eyes back on the road_. Leave it until you get home Hardy!_ He thought again.

Blue eyes flashing with sorrow, Joe continued to drive and was grateful when he pulled up in front of his home. Parking his car in the parking lot next to where Frank's car had been left earlier, Joe grabbed the two pictures and raced for the front door, forgetting, almost, to lock his car doors. At the front porch he turned his key fob on the car and heard the satisfying kachunk sound his doors made when they were satisfactorily locked and he used another key to unlock the front door. Once inside he punched in the numbers to keep the alarm from going off and he raced down the hallway to his father's office.

"Dad? I'm home," Joe said softly as he slid into one of the empty seats. Fenton was reading something on his computer monitor and, for just a moment, ignored Joe. The young man waited patiently, bobbing slightly in his seat in anticipation until Fenton turned to look at him.

"Here," Joe handed his dad the two pictures. "We found someone who saw the two guys – they look like the men who followed and took Frank. They were in a store that Frank was in earlier – a friend of Tony's saw them and Phil made these pictures. I thought you could use them to get names."

Fenton studied the two pictures before he frowned and leaned back in his seat.

"I've seen this one before," he pointed to the blonde. "Name… name…" Fenton closed his eyes for a moment, thinking, then opened them again. "Duncan Lake. I only remember him because I arrested him when I was still on the force. He was sentenced to second-degree murder. Must have gotten out on good behavior."

"Didn't last," Joe muttered hostilely. "He should still be in jail."

"No argument," his father agreed sedately. "I'll let Con know – and I'll start running down the information on my computer."

Fenton reached for a manila envelope sitting on the edge of the desk. He held it for a moment before he slid it across the table to Joe.

"Put those on first," Fenton motioned to a pair of plastic gloves sitting on the desk. Joe reached for them and put them on his hands. "You're not going to like what you see. Don't do anything stupid and don't fly off the handle. Got it?"

Joe nodded as he took the envelope from his father. He opened it and pulled out the picture within very careful. It was upside down at first and he lifted an edge to turn it over. Joe took a deep breath, steeling himself as he turned the picture over.

Frank sat in a chair in the middle of a concrete room, naked.

Joe swallowed nervously and felt bile rising up in his stomach. He flew out of his seat and raced across the hall, throwing up what little dinner he had eaten. He sat there for a moment, getting his nerves back under control.

_Not what I expected,_ Joe thought shuddering. Sure, he saw his brother in the all-together before. Barging in at the wrong time in their shared bathroom, showers together in the locker room at school where there was no privacy to be spoken of or just incidental times like in a changing room at the beach.

It was different though. This was different. Joe was positive that whoever did that to Frank didn't have Frank's permission.

Joe went back to his father's office and sat down again, shaking slightly. Joe apologized to his father and Fenton nodded, waving it away.

"I reacted the same way," Fenton admitted ruefully.

"You… you don't think they've… you know… touched him?" Joe just could not even wrap his mind around the 'r' word and there was no way he was going to say it out loud.

Fenton's quiet startled Joe even more. He wanted an immediate 'no way' here – not… this, whatever his father was doing.

"I don't think Alex would do… that… to him," Fenton said softly. "This may be his way of controlling Frank though. Making it so even if Frank does have anyway to escape, he wouldn't make it very far that way… and obviously he's punishing Frank for trying to escape. He said as much in his note."

Joe found the note within the envelope.

_Fenton,_

_Your son decided to be foolish, despite my warnings. Your time has been cut down considerably. Here's another picture to show you that, for now, he's fine – but it's up to you if he stays that way or not. Return what belongs to me._

_Alex_

Joe took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat. He studied the picture again, this time not looking at Frank but at Frank's surroundings.

"Dad!" Joe exclaimed suddenly. "Oh my God!"

Fenton jumped and stared at his son. "What? What's wrong?"

"Dad!" Joe exclaimed in excitement. "Look… I think I know where he's being held. Look!"

Fenton frowned and took the picture, studying it. He looked up at his son and shook his head.

"Through the window," Joe said. "There's cranes and front loaders. You can see them can't you? I bet you anything he's somewhere they have new construction going on. We just gotta figure out where and match the picture…"

Fenton raised his head, dark eyes meeting blue eyes. "I think you have something. It might take us a while to find the exact location but if we can get enough people on this…"

Joe sobered slightly. "Can we do it in enough time for Frank? B-before he freezes to death?"

"We're going to try," Fenton vowed softly. "We are definitely going to try."


	11. Chapter 11 Another Fine Pickle

SNOWY WINTER'S CHILL  
by Porsche 11 – Another Fine Pickle 

_This is another fine pickle you've gotten yourself into, Hardy,_ the older of the two Hardy boys chided himself harshly as he sat tied, naked, to a straight-back chair in a too cold room in an unknown location_. Just another one of those great things you thought out thoroughly to the end. Had to test your captor didn't you?_

Frank wanted to kick himself. Or hit himself. Or even knock the chair he was secured to over sideways and jar himself a good one for stupidity. He knew rule one of being kidnapped was to cooperate with the kidnapper. Period.

Dad drilled that into our heads when we were young. Over and over and over again, he told his if we were ever kidnapped that we must cooperate with our kidnappers; that cooperation was the surest way to survive the ordeal until Dad has time to find us. And here I am, paying for breaking that rule.

_Idiot,_ Frank thought again as he struggled with the handcuffs. _Damned James and his damned cuffs and no ropes anyway. And damn me for being so caught up on losing my clothes that I didn't do the usual tricks to keep things flexed so that the cuffs were loose and didn't bite into my arm._

_Another fine pickle you've gotten yourself into, Hardy, he repeated again. Note to self. Tell Joe to hit you when he finds you. Order him. You obviously need a good knock on the head to remember the rules._

Frank sighed and wished for a way to remove the blindfold so he, at least, could see. He could open his eyes behind the blindfold for all the good it did; dark cloth in a dark space gave you… dark. Ever so exciting the scenery here.

_I suppose I could sing "One Hundred Bottles of Pop on a Wall" Frank thought. Not as much fun to myself, though. It's a truly annoying song anyway. I really thought I was going to throttle Joe when we went camping. Top of his lungs, bellowing that stupid song, over and over again. I thought mom was going to throw him out a window until Dad finally ordered him to shut up already. _

Frank went to work on calculus equations in his head and algebraic formulas. Then for fun he sang the ABC song in his head; another obnoxious song that Joe sang too loudly on car trips.

_Granted, he was only three and just learned it, Frank thought. But still. He must have sung it a hundred times on that one trip alone!_

Frank snorted at the memory. Okay, so I joined him for half of them. Never mind that. Still obnoxious. Annoying.

_Straining his hears he heard something. Oh yes. Christmas music. Rudolph? My kidnapper is listening to "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer?". Dear God. _

Frank sighed as he listened the music cycle from Rudolph to "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" and then to "Away in a Manger" and then to "Here Comes Santa Claus."

_What is this? A kid's tape? Or is this another version of torment the prisoner?_

Frank sighed again, unable to do anything else, listened to the tape cycle to "Little Drummer Boy" and "Do You Hear What I Hear?"

In all he counted twenty songs on the CD before the CD cycled again. Frank shivered lightly.

_So c-cold,_ Frank thought as he shook himself again, striving to keep his blood circulating properly through cold flesh and trying, almost without hope, to ignore the cold temperatures in this uncomfortable basement room. The ropes that secured him to the chair afforded him little in the way of movement; James, the henchman, tied knots very well.

Frank closed his eyes and turned inward to ignore the outward discomfort.

Meditation, he heard his karate sensei say, is the art of inward speculation. The ability to see inside of yourself and find that which is flaw and that which is strength. In meditation you shall ignore the flaw and accept the strength. Breathe in and breathe out. Slow your breathing. In and hold it. Then out. In and hold it. Then out.

_But Sensei, Frank wanted to argue with the older Asian man. It's so cold. How do I ignore the cold?_

Breathe in and breathe out, Frank Hardy, his sensei said calmly, in a way that sometimes infuriated even the usually patient Frank. Ignore that which causes discomfort, for it does not exist. It is as the air, insubstantial. Ignore it, Frank Hardy and accept the strengths within you. Accept the air that you breathe. Accept the blood that flows through your lungs. Accept the heart which pumps your blood through your body.

Frank breathed in and held it before he exhaled. In and out. In and out. Slowly and calmly until he entered that zen-like state his Sensei Woo desired all his students to enter before a healthy work-out. The cold remained but Frank ignored it and tried to control the things he could control. His breathing. Flexing his limbs as much as the bonds allowed. His panicked racing thoughts calmed so that his heart slowed.

Hypothermia, an unpleasant word he wanted to ignore, invaded his thoughts next. Frank fought to forget about the potential hypothermia but without will he remembered the symptoms. Lowered temperature. Sluggish heart rates. Ability to think becomes slow and impaired. Uncontrolled shivering that stops as your temperature drops too low. Weakness. Loss of coordination. Confusion. Pale and cold skin. Drowsiness. Slowed breathing or heart rate.

Frank frowned at that last one. Had he already brought about the onset of hypothermia by doing his breathing exercises? Sensei never covered that one in their survival lessons.

Time passed; it crawled by as Frank became ever aware of aches in his joints from both the uncomfortable position and the cold. The room technically remained well above freezing but he felt occasional drafts that were cold enough to be outside air. Frank shivered despite his desire to remain under control, glad, at least, that he was dry. You got hypothermia much quicker if you were wet.

_Naked doesn't help,_ Frank blinked his eyes rapidly and closed them again as he flexed and loosened muscles to try to stave off the shivers. _Much too early for shivers, he thought. Much, much too early. _

Outside the room, Alistair Winston peered inside at his victim and smiled, the expression never reaching his eyes. He watched young Frank closely as the young man seemed to struggle against the extreme conditions surrounding him.

"We have to move locations soon," Winston peered at James as the man leaned against a wall and pulled out a cigarette from his pocket. "No doubt we'll want to stay on the move for a bit. Let me know when he reaches into the middle stages of hypothermia," Winston ordered his tall, blonde, employee. "It will be time to begin the procedure then. After we've started we can move to the next location."

"Do we have that long?" James asked after he lit his cigarette and took a healthy drag.

"We have that long," Winston frowned at the cigarette. "Put that nasty thing out, James. You know I don't allow that in the house."

James growled and dropped the cigarette to the ground and ground out with a boot. He put his cigarettes away and glared at Winston while the man regarded his prisoner again.

"No doubt it will take longer for the effects to show than we like," Winston commented. "But no doubt the boy will give eventually. Fenton is smart but he's not that smart. It will take him at least a day to cotton this location, if not longer. Still, I have Chavez out at the end of the street that leads back here; nobody can get by him without being spotted. We'll have enough warning."

"You think it will take?" the man known as James asked his employer a short while later.

Winston smiled coldly as he regarded the blonde man. "It will take," he turned back to the window that looked into the room where his victim remained. "I shall have what is mine – one way or another."


	12. Chapter 12 Heated Symphonies

**Snowy Winter's Chill**

**Chapter 12 – Heated Symphonies**

Another construction site and another failure, Joe thought dismally as he looked around the various houses being built in the "Snowglobe" subdivision on the outskirts of Bayport. Formally two farms, the land was sold years ago to make way for the tracts of houses now being built all through the subdivision. Several houses currently held residents; lucky buyers who got in early on and now endured the building of the rest of the houses. The builders at the "Snowglobe Inland Village" obviously tucked their machinery away inside a very large tent at night.

"Maybe it's an older house across from something newer being built," Joe suggested a few moments later as he stared outside the window of his father's car. "You know, it seemed like a basement room of some sort. Or maybe I'm grasping at straws. It could even be a small factory or warehouse or something."

Fenton shrugged as he started the car and they drove out of the subdivision. "Could be," he sighed. "The problem is, the snow's getting heavier and it's going to get a lot harder to get around. And it's too dark out to really see anything."

Joe slumped in his seat and rubbed at his forehead. "We can't leave him overnight, Dad, we can't!" he protested.

"I don't want to either, son," Fenton soothed as he squeezed Joe's shoulder. "I don't want to stop looking but if we get stuck in the snow or freeze to death ourselves, how do you think we're going to do Frank any good? The police are out looking too and let's face it – at the moment they're better equipped for a search than we are."

"Maybe," Joe groused. "I don't want to stop. If we go home I won't be able to do anything but worry. Out here… out here I feel like I'm doing something, even if that something isn't getting us anywhere."

Fenton shook his head. "We both need to go home, get something warm to eat and drink and get some sleep. First light tomorrow we can go out again; I promise, Joe, not a second past sunrise. Con promised he squads were already out in force searching all of the construction sites and in the morning they promised to pull in the fire department as well. No doubt we'll have federal aid soon as well. We'll find Frank."

Joe said nothing as he peered out his window at the ever thickening snow. The wind howled around the car making a banshee-like wailing sound and he shivered despite the warmth where he sat. If he closed his eyes he saw the picture of Frank, naked, handcuffed and blindfolded to a chair. The images were superseded, occasionally, by the sight of his and Frank's yellow sedan blowing in the parking lot of the mall where Frank disappeared.

"First light," Joe whispered and prayed that Frank made it that long. He ignored his father the rest of the trip home and pounded up the stairs to his bedroom, throwing himself onto his bed again, rubbing at his eyes in an effort to rid himself of the visions his over-active imagination dredged up.

"Joe?" he heard a soft knock just before his mother spoke his name and he turned over to look up at her. "Dinner's on the table. You should come down and eat."

"Not hungry," Joe rolled back over and buried his face in his pillow, rudely ignoring his mother.

Joe waited for the sound of his mother closing the door to his room but it never came. He looked up again and saw her standing at the end of his bed, face drawn with worry. Joe sat up and watched her for a moment.

"I can see him," Joe said. "In my head. Freezing. No dignity. Afraid that we won't find him in time, afraid that he'll never see us again. I just… I can't eat, Mom. I'd just throw it all up again anyway."

Laura came around and sat down beside Joe on his bed and put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him toward her in a hug. Joe fought off the urge to cry but surrendered to the hug, to the warmth that his mother provided. He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her toward him, hugging her gently.

"We need to stay strong," Laura said softly. "All of us, including you. That's why I want you to come down and eat. It's nothing heavy – just homemade tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches with hot cocoa. You need the food, Joe and then you need to get some sleep so you can go out with your father tomorrow. Maybe by then the police will have found your brother already."

Joe frowned; he found it highly unlikely that even Bayport's crack police squad wound find Frank before morning.

"I am the first line, you know," Laura commented a few moments later when Joe made no urge to get up. "I'm afraid if you don't go down with me your Aunt will be up next. It's up to you if you want to deal with her but I'd really suggest that you go down with me now."

Joe smiled wanly.

"I guess," he sighed. "You're right. I should eat I just… I don't know if I can. I'll try, though."

Laura nodded and stood, pulling on one of Joe's hands so he had to get up as well.

"Go wash your hands and face and come downstairs. We'll be waiting," she suggested in motherly fashion.

"Yes, ma'am," Joe snapped off a salute and went to follow orders.

"That's more like it," the youngest Hardy looked up at his Aunt as he took his usual seat at the dining room table. "Skipping meals is bad for your health, you know that."

"Yes, Aunt Gertrude," Joe sighed heavily as he took the bowl of soup his mother offered and grabbed a grilled-cheese sandwich from the lazy susan in the middle of the table.

"I'm going to make a map that marks all of the construction areas in a twenty mile radius of Bayport," Fenton said to Joe as they ate. "And circle all the ones we've already been to. I'll get a list from Con in the morning of the ones that the police have already searched so we aren't repeating ourselves."

"Are you even trying to find the Winston boy?" Gertrude asked tartly after she primly wiped the edges of her mouth with the corner of her napkin.

"I wouldn't know where to begin," Fenton confessed. "They went into the Witness Protection program; I purposefully made sure I didn't anything about their location and the FBI won't give it up now. That's why we're going to have to do all this searching on our own, so that we can find Frank ourselves."

Gertrude looked up sharply. "You don't have contacts that could find the Winston boy for you? You obviously aren't trying hard enough."

Fenton glared at his older sister and Joe held his breath, forgetting his food for a moment. "Are you saying I should turn over an innocent young man to get Frank back? Do you think that's what Frank would want? Alex nearly killed Jamie the last time they saw each other! And don't you dare say I don't want Frank back, Gertrude Elaine Hardy. I love my son far more than you do and if you can't see that then you're obviously in need of a new pair of glasses!"

Fenton stood and threw his napkin onto his plate before storming away. A few moments later the door to his office slammed closed and Joe turned his attention back to his aunt, furiously.

"What was that?" the blonde-haired boy demanded. "What in the world do you think you were doing, Aunt? Making Dad feel bad about Frank… that's ridiculous. You…"

Gertrude swallowed nervously. "I just think he could do more."

"We're doing everything we can!" Joe shouted and Laura looked alarmed. "You just… just stay away from both of us!"

In an echoing motion to his father, Joe threw his napkin on his plate and stormed back upstairs, ignoring his mother's entreaties to come back and finish his dinner. With a hostile "I'm not hungry" yelled down the stairs Joe slammed the door to his room closed.


	13. Chapter 13 Falsehoods and Lies

**Snowy Winter's Chill**

**By Porsche**

**CHAPTER 13 – Falsehoods and Lies**

So cold.

So very, very cold.

Cold and dark and dark and cold and burning on his wrists and on his ankles and cold and dark and shivering and can't stop shivering.

Frank fought the sensations again for so long. He went deep inside his mind and counted backward from one hundred in French. He named all the capitals of all of the states. He named all of the Presidents from Abraham Lincoln onward, not remembering the five or six before him. He tried every trick he ever learned to ignore the discomfort and pain and outright torture involved in freezing to death but eventually his mind began to rebel so that he thought three was the capital of Idaho and Boise was French for fifty. Or was that Spanish? Or…

Frank shook his head again and tried to clear the cobwebs forming from the cold. The symptoms of hypothermia faded along with the rest but… confusion? And disorientation? Weren't those symptoms?

A B C D E F G… he sang in his head and then forgot what he was doing. K E Y M O U S E…

"…Prancer and Vixen. Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen… but do you recall… the most famous Reindeer of all?"

Weird names, he thought. Weird, weird names. Who named their kid Comet or Blitzen?

No, those were reindeer. Reindeer names. Not kids names. Stupid song. Joe liked that song. Another stupid song to sing at the top of his lungs to annoy me. I wish he'd stop singing. Doesn't he know I'm trying to sleep? _JOE! SHUT UP!_ He tried to shout that but couldn't. Something was on the way. Frank tried to push something out of his way but his arms wouldn't move. He frowned and yanked at his arms.

That hurt. His wrists burned. Felt like someone set them on fire,

Ankles burned too. Why did his ankles burn? Didn't make sense. Stupid ankles. Stupid wrists.

_Joe stop singing! And come let me go. It's too cold, Joe. Quit opening the window. Mom, I need a blanket! Mom?_

_Why doesn't she answer? _He wondered, feeling suddenly lonely. _ Weren't mom's supposed to come when you were lonely and afraid and cold? Mom? MOM! MOM I NEED YOU! MOM!_

No answer. Nothing but silence and darkness and cold and burning. So very, very cold. Burning and cold and cold and burning and silent except for Joe singing that stupid song. Where was Santa Claus lane located?

_Slightly better than the stupid Reindeer song. Slightly. Maybe._

_Really better than the ABC song. And the pop song. I don't like that one. Joe, don't start singing that one, okay?_

Tired. He was tired now and sleepy. Maybe he should just try to sleep since he was lonely and cold and burning and cold and cold and cold. Sleep would be good.

_I'd like a blanket though. A nice heated blanket. Warm. So I can sleep._

_Just want to sleep a bit. That will help._

"Jamie…" the voice was soft and gentle. "Jamie, it's dad, can you hear me?"

The boy in the chair frowned and turned away. He didn't bother to answer. He just wanted to sleep. Even if it was cold and uncomfortable and lonely and he wanted his mom to bring him a blanket, he would just sleep right here and ignore everyone else. That's right.

"Jamie," the voice was more insistent, shaking his arm a little more. "Jamie, it's Daddy. I want you to wake up, Jamie and look at me. We have to get you out of here but I need you to acknowledge me."

Jamie? "Name's not Jamie," Frank slurred sleepily and coughed, a hacking, raspy cough that shook his whole frame. "Frank."

"No, Jamie," the voice insisted. That wasn't his dad's voice. He knew his dad's voice. His dad was warm and sometimes husky and strong. His dad didn't go by Daddy either. He was dad. "Your name is Jamie, short for Jameson. Jameson Winston. You've been missing for sometime, Jamie. We just found you and we're going to get you out of here. We're going to get you somewhere safe. You need to cooperate with us, Jamie."

"Frank," Frank insisted. Not Jamie whatever. Frank. That much he remembered. He didn't remember much else but he held onto his name. And Joe. He remembered Joe. Joe was warm too. And funny. And sunny. Joe was a good guy. A good brother. "Frank Hardy. Not…"

"No!" the voice insisted and someone shook him again. "You are Jameson Winston. They brainwashed you, son. They told you lies. They're the ones who made you cold, Jamie. Can't you tell how cold you are?"

Frank could, in fact, tell how cold he was.

"They did that to you. They took you from me and put you in the cold, Jamie. I came to rescue you. I can bring you to where it's warm. Don't you want to be warm again?"

"Wanna blanket," Frank agreed. "Mom can bring me a blanket."

"Mom's not here, son," the voice said. "Jamie, it's time to get out of here. You'll understand better soon. You'll understand that you're safe."

"Still Frank," Frank murmured muzzily. "Not… whoever…"

Frank heard a huff and closed his eyes. If they were going to ignore him, he would ignore them.

"Give him the injection," Winston glared at James as he knelt beside the freezing boy on the ground beside him. "I don't want him to get oriented again."

"Yes, sir," James agreed and he pulled out a syringe from the case opened on the ground in front of him. He pulled off the needle cap and pushed the plunger slightly until a little of the drug was dispensed, and then he put the needle to their captive's arm and dispensed the rest o f the drug.

"Get him to the car, it's time to get out of here," Winston ordered. "We can finish the procedure when we get home. Get him dressed before we leave. I left appropriate clothing upstairs."

James pulled out keys and released the cuffs from wrists and ankles before he carefully lifted the young man and carried him up the stairs to a bedroom on the first floor.

Fifteen minutes later they were headed out to the car parked behind the house and five minutes after that they were on their way out of Bayport again.


End file.
